


The Last Time I saw Igor

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky is beaten up after purchasing a clay figure from a Mexican import shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Time I saw Igor

Olivera Street was a tourist's idea of Mexico-quaint streets strung with pinatas, carts displaying hand-woven serapes and misshapen reproductions of folk art. The aroma of chili peppers and frying tortillas was redolent in the heavy air, mixing with the sinus clearing scent of eucalyptus. The warm June Saturday afternoon was perfect for indulging in lazy conversation with a friend and window shopping.

"Isn't this great?" David Starsky enthused with a grin, eager to poke around the little shops before munching on a freshly made burrito for lunch. He wandered into the first curio shop he spied, his tall, blond shadow following behind with a bemused expression.

"Starsky, you have better taste than this." Ken Hutchinson pointed to a shelf of poorly painted two handled pots. "If you want to find some nice Mexican art so badly, why not take a few days off and fly to Mexico City or Guadalajara? It's a couple of hours by plane."

"Miguel told me I could get some great stuff here." Starsky headed off into the crowd of sightseers, leaving Hutch to hustle to keep up with him. "Good bargains."

"Miguel who sells tacos on the corner of Ninth?" Hutch ducked his head to avoid a string of brightly colored beads strung across the path. "He's..."

"I know he's high most of the time." Starsky stopped so abruptly his blond haired partner ran into him. "An' marijuana may be illegal, but it doesn't stop him from recognizing quality when he sees it."

"Starsky!" Hutch groaned, rolling his eyes. "Would you recognize quality?"

"See, I told ya." Starsky entered a dark little shop, waving an expansive hand at the displayed wares. The terra cotta pottery and ceramic figurines did look more authentic and were made with more artistry than what some of the other shops had offered. "Lemme look around for a while, then we'll get some tequila at the bar."

"Go ahead." Hutch smiled indulgently. He lounged against the counter, toying with some tiny stuffed dolls in ethnic costume. The temperature inside the stuffy little shop was a good ten degrees hotter than outside and Hutch wiped sweat off his brow, wishing for the promised tequila about now, with an icy beer along side.

The short, dark haired proprietor who had the round flat face of the ancient Mexican Indians with skin a brown as wood stood watching Starsky roam for a few moments before bringing out several items for him to examine. All were interesting in their own right, squat, craggy faced gods and wide eyed, brightly painted ceramic animals. None of them, however, really caught Starsky's imagination.

"Miguel said you had some really old lookin' stuff," Starsky persisted. A cooling breeze was coming from an archway covered with a blue, green and red banded blanket, and Starsky peered towards the back room with interest. "Got any more stuff back there that you haven't put out?"

"Starsky, c'mon." Hutch groaned as the curly haired man disappeared behind the blanket.

"Sir, you cannot...!" The proprietor followed in alarm, waving his hands frantically.

"This is it!" Starsky emerged, bearing a scowling black faced god decorated with a thin line of gold leaf on the lips, eyes, headdress and around the base. Large lobed ears sported enormous gold earrings.

"Starsky, that thing is hideous!" Hutch grimaced.

"I like it," he announced stubbornly, "It has something..."

"Whatever it is, I wouldn't want to see it in a dark alley."

"How much?" Starsky asked the shopkeeper, who appeared very unwilling to part with the idol and attempted to wrest it from his grasp.

"Senior, senior, that one..it has special value..." Montoya cajoled.

"Yeah, I know, how much?" Starsky repeated.

"Not for sale-it's a sentimental value."

"C'mon, fifty bucks?" Starsky bargained.

"Uh, no," he stuttered, thinking fast. "One hundred."

"Sixty."

"Starsky, don't pay that kinda money for that piece of junk." Hutch sighed.

"I want it. It's different...unique," Starsky persisted.

Montoya looked up at him in surprise. That was the correct code word, but this man was a stranger. He wasn't on the list. What to do?

"Seventy is my final offer." Starsky pulled out his cash, plunking three twenties and a ten on the counter.

"You want me to wrap it up? " Montoya asked in resignation. He'd used the correct word, after all, and a sale was a sale. Business hadn't been all that good lately. He needed the money. Nevertheless, he felt uneasy placing the bills in the cash register.

"Yeah, make sure it doesn't break. Starsky grinned excitedly, watching while the little man packed up the icon with old newsprint, then placed it in a shopping bag.

"Have a nice day." The Mexican said the platitude stiffly.

"C'mon, Starsk," Hutch was amazed that his friend would pay seventy dollars of his hard earned detective's pay for such an ugly figure, but Starsky did know something about Mexican art. Maybe he saw something in the black and gold face that Hutch didn't.

Threading their way past colorful booths selling a mixture of authentic looking objects and schlocky tourist items, Starsky and Hutch headed for a bar at the far end of the street.

Guerrero's was a cool, dark haven on an increasingly warm day. Pushing open a green painted door, Hutch lead the way inside, choosing a table near the back and slid down into a chair. Carefully depositing his recent purchase on the table next to a clay vase full of multicolored tissue paper flowers, Starsky took the other chair while gesturing to the waitress.

Both ordered Corona Golds with limes and tequila chasers. The waitress, wearing an off the shoulder peasant blouse tucked into tight blue jeans took the order with a bored nod, sauntering back to the bar to get the drinks.

"Looks kinda young to be working in a bar," Starsky observed.

"Well, let's see what you wasted your hard earned detective's pay on," Hutch goaded. The waitress came back with their drinks, plunking one of the beers down so roughly the foam sloshed out onto the tabletop. Hutch just raised his eyebrows at the service, but she wasn't paying any attention. Popping her gum, she wiped the spot with a rag before heading back to her station.

Ignoring that blatant attempt to annoy him, Starsky turned his attention to the black and gold figure. Pulling back the wrappings, he set it one the base, sighing with happiness. "I really like this. It speaks to me."

"What ever it's saying, don't repeat it." Hutch downed his shot of tequila, biting into the tangy lime afterwards.

" _Dios y madre._ " A tall, thin man with a straggly mustache stood at the bar, eyeing the two men at the table with an expression of anger. "Angela, who are those two?" he hissed.

"I don't know." Angela shrugged, annoyed that her older brother was again hanging around the bar. He really cramped her style. "I've never seen them before. They just come in."

"Valdez." Tito Ramirez elbowed a shorter man speaking on the phone in rapid Spanish. "Hang up."

"What?" Bicho Valdez snarled. His given name was Jesuchristo, but few if any called him by that. Way back in Juvie, when he'd been incarcerated on his first assault charge, the other boys had rechristened him Bicho. He liked it and it stuck. It meant mean, vermin, criminal...describing him to a T.

"Look over there." Ramirez didn't have to point, it was obvious whom he meant.

" _Hijo de puta,_ " Bicho swore, "We got to get it back."

"I've decided to call him Igor." Starsky sipped beer with a pleased expression, flicking one of the idol's earrings so it rocked back and forth.

"Igor, huh?" Hutch finished his beer, wiping off his upper lip. "Starsky, sometimes I wonder what's going on in your brain."

"Listen, you want to pick up some beer and I'll stop for a pizza since we both got out own cars," Starsky proposed, taking his eyes off his prize just for a moment. "We can meet at my place, it's closer and watch the game on TV."

"Sure, I need to pick up something from the dry cleaner, too," Hutch remembered, "My good suit."

"You gotta testify in court next week." Starsky grimaced, "Glad it's not me, buddy."

"Well, I can't say I would have traded places with you two years ago." Hutch smiled sadly. The reason he'd been working a case with another detective was because Starsky had still been in the hospital after Gunther's assassination attempt. Truthfully, he would have done anything to have changed places and spared Starsky the pain of gunshot wounds to the chest and the prolonged recovery he'd had to endure.

"Point taken." Starsky gathered up the wrappings, stuffing them around Igor and placing him back in the bag, unaware that he had an audience at the bar. "Your car's on the way to mine." He rose, waiting while Hutch left a few bills on the table, before both stepped out of the dim bar back into the brilliant glare of the sunny afternoon.

"Why'd you park so far away?" Hutch paused to examine a display of silver and turquoise jewelry set out on blanket just outside the bar. A wizened old woman squatted next to her wares, knitting. She smiled with shining onyx eyes when the two men bent to admire the jewelry.

"I just got my car detailed, don't want to mar the wax job." Starsky pointed to a thick silver band studded with small uncut, unpolished pieces of turquoise. "That's nice."

"That's the one I was looking at, too." Hutch flashed his friend a smile. To outsiders they seemed like total opposites, in coloring, personality and interests, but sometimes they were so closely in tune they could almost read each other's minds.

Hutch's battered pale green LTD was parked about half a block up from the main area of shops, directly across from a small Mom and Pop liquor store.

"Guess you don't have to go very far for beer." Starsky laughed, waving as he swaggered down the street with Igor under his arm.

"See you later, Starsk." Hutch turned to watch his partner walk away and nearly collided with a tall, thin Mexican with piercing dark eyes and a straggly mustache. Another man, shorter and stockier, stood just behind him.

"Sorry," Hutch apologized, stepping aside to go into the liquor store.

"Ya fuck." Bicho hissed at Ramirez, "What if he remembers you?"

"The other one's got the goods. Don't care about Blondie, anyway." Tito dismissed that concern, keeping his eyes on the curly haired man just disappearing around a corner. "C'mon, hurry, we've got to get that thing back."

++++++++++++++

Hutch pulled up in front of Starsky's white house, surprised that the bright red Gran Torino wasn't already there. He'd remembered a second errand after the dry cleaners and had spent nearly half an hour at Thrifty picking up light bulbs and those toiletries that were always necessary and often forgotten until he was brushing his teeth without toothpaste and scrounging around for Kleenex to use as toilet paper.

He'd bought the bulbs specifically because Starsky's porch light had burned out weeks before. Both detectives had been working long hours in the last month and it had annoyed him every time he'd arrive to pick up Starsky after the sun was down to come up on a pitch black landing. He took a moment to screw in the new bulb, fully expecting to hear the distinctive roar of the Torino's powerful engine coming down the street. He hoped Starsky had the pizza with him because he was starved.

Letting himself into the house, he stuck the six-pack of Heineken into the refrigerator and turned on the TV. The pregame chat was on, two hairsprayed sports commentators discussing each baseball team in overly enthusiastic terms.

After another half hour, Hutch felt his stomach grumbling uncomfortably. Where was Starsky? It'd been nearly two hours since they'd parted on Olivera Street and he was feeling a twinge of concern. The first player for the Cardinals swung the bat, striking out, but Hutch was no longer paying any attention.

He roamed the room restlessly, picking up a stray leaf from a struggling ficus tree, finally getting a now cold beer out of the refrigerator.

 _God, Starsky, you're making me nervous._ Did you stop to talk to someone?

Get a call for back up on some crime?

That must have been it. Starsky must have responded to a call over the police radio that Hutch hadn't heard while he was in Thrifty. He was in the field!

Now energized, Hutch nearly galloped down the steps in front of the house to his car. He yanked open the door and grabbed up the hand mike. "Dispatch, this is Zebra three."

"Zebra three, go ahead." The pretty voice on the other end recognized the caller. "Hi, Hutch, it's Claudia. Isn't this your day off?"

"Yeah, listen, did Starsky call in in the last hour or so? Maybe go out on a call?"

"I'll check, Hutch, give me a minute," she answered.

While Claudia was investigating the call sheet, Hutch leaned his head back on the seat, his hope fading. Starsky would have tried to phone the house if he'd realized he was going to be tied up, wouldn't he? After all, he was the one who'd made the plans.

As the minute crawled by Hutch was becoming less positive that Starsky had helped out a fellow officer and more concerned that something was very wrong.

The loud squawk from the radio startled him back to alertness, "Zebra three-Hutch? This is Dispatch."

"What did you find, Claudia?" He asked, his belly knotting up like a macrame wall hanging.

"Starsky hasn't called in since you two logged out Friday night, Hutch."

Damn. Hutch had to fight to take a breath, his throat tightening with the strain. "T-thanks, Claudia. I'll see you later."

"Hutch, is something wrong?"

"Umm, if Starsky does call in, tell him to call me, will you?" He tried to sound unconcerned, but his heart rate was accelerating. If David Starsky had driven up right then in the Striped Tomato, Hutch didn't know whether he'd be overjoyed or angry. This wasn't like his partner.

Starsky would have phoned if he were legitimately delayed. Maybe a car accident? Maybe he was hurt? Maybe he'd stopped off to have a drink with Huggy?

Back inside the house, Hutch switched off the television without bothering to check the score. Starsky had now been gone two and a half hours. Knowing it was way too soon to call in a missing persons, Hutch tried the Pits.

The telephone was answered by Diane, one of the waitresses, who yelled across the crowded bar to get the proprietor Huggy Bear's attention. Hutch could hear the TV blaring the baseball commentary. A roar went up from the bar patrons as the batter hit a home run.

"Yo, Hutch, why don't you an' Starsk come on down? The joint is jumpin', man," Huggy greeted, shouting into the handset to make himself heard over the crowd.

"Sounds good, Huggy, except I was hoping Starsky was already there." Hutch stared across at the front door, willing his partner to come bursting through, filled with colorful excuses and carrying a big pizza box.

"No, I ain't seen Curly locks all day," Huggy replied. "Somethin' going down I should know about?"

"I'll let you know." Hutch let out a pent up breath. "If you see him, call me."

"Ditto that, man." Huggy sounded worried as he hung up.

Alone in his best friend's apartment, surrounded by Starsky's belongings, Hutch began to let the dread seep in. Should he wait or back track to Olivera Street?

Starsky would be justifiably annoyed if Hutch put out an APB on him and all he had was a flat tire, but Hutch knew his partner too well. This was something more, something really serious. He could feel it down deep.

He resolved to wait a few hours to give Starsky the benefit of the doubt despite the acid now churning in his belly. If he had a piece of pepperoni pizza in front of him right now, he didn't think he'd be able to take a bite.

++++++++++++++++

Something wet and rough scraped over Starsky's jaw and he moaned, trying to turn his face away from the irritant, but he couldn't move his head. The wetness now covered the whole right side of his face up to the cheekbone bringing with it stinging, burning pain. A rumbling sound was loud in his ears like the drone of a bee. It must be Hutch snoring. Wishing Hutch would just shut up, Starsky tried to get more comfortable, but it was impossible. He just wanted to sleep a few hours more because he felt miserable. Everything ached and as long as he just lay still on the cold cement, he didn't hurt so badly. After a few moments he stirred, unable to fall back into blessed unconsciousness. Something was not right.

The big question here was where was he?

Why wasn't he in bed nursing this hangover?

And for that matter, why did he have a hangover? He didn't remember getting drunk, or for that matter, Hutch getting drunk. Where were they?

Starsky raised his left hand to push Hutch over on his side to stop the annoying snoring. Fingers brushing a warm fuzzy object, Starsky involuntarily tightened his grasp around the ball of fur. It retaliated, raking tiny, needle-sharp claws along the back of his hand with a hissing spit. Letting go as the claws sank into his flesh, Starsky echoed the howl of protest, opening his eyes in time to see a brown kitten, back arched in a classic Halloween pose. With a second hiss, the kitten streaked away between a jumble of trashcans. Starsky stuck his scratched hand into his mouth as the rest of his body woke and chorused for attention.

Damn, he hurt. Fiery, agonizing stabs of pain pierced his chest, cutting off his breath until all he could do was curl into the fetal position. Lying with his face once more against the cool cement, pieces of memory started to surface; the two Hispanic guys grabbing him and pushing him into an alley, beating the crap out of him. They'd never said a word, just shoved him against the brick wall so quickly he thought his head had exploded. He'd never really gotten a good look at them as fists pummeled his face and body in a furious attack until he'd barely been able to do more than raise his arms in feeble defense. Then, even that had been taken away from when one of the assailants had pulled his arms behind him, pinning him to the ground while a foot smashed into his ribcage.

Hutch. Oh, God, Hutch would be wondering where he was by now. Even without raising his head again, Starsky could tell it was full dark out. Hours had to have passed since he'd left Hutch at his car. It was dark and cold, tendrils of fog whisping around, chilling the ground.

The Torino. It couldn't be far away.

Starsky struggled to his knees but even that amount of movement was as difficult as climbing the sheer face of El Capitan. His stomach protested violently, trying to shoot the last thing he'd put down there straight out past his teeth. Starsky vomited repeatedly until he was long past being able to bring anything more up.

Panting, he considered his options. The car had to be close by, but since he couldn't even get to his feet, there was little chance he could find the car and then drive home.

Gathering what little strength he could muster, Starsky began to crawl. The alley he had awakened in was a dark hole, but up ahead he could see the inviting glow of a street lamp. Starsky crept forward, gaining only a few feet before he had to rest, his own panting loud and harsh to his ears. It hurt like fire to breathe. He stayed on hands and knees with his head hanging down since it would be even harder to get up again from a sitting position after his little rest period. About ready to start moving again, he remembered Igor. Where was ceramic head, bundled so securely in paper wrappings? Wasting precious energy he could scarcely afford, he spent several minutes searching around the trashcans and debris that littered the alleyway. Although the narrow space between two buildings was very dark, he knew with out looking further that Igor was no longer nearby. Had his attackers taken it? Why?

Slumping on his haunches with his back against a metal can, Starsky waited until his pounding head cleared, trying to decide his next course of action. The tiny brown kitten hissed menacingly, angry at having to share its hiding place with the human. Starsky pressed a hand against his ribs, feeling the bones shift. He had to get moving, find Hutch. It wasn't until he started crawling out to the sidewalk again that he saw his salvation.

Standing not twenty feet away was that paragon of modern communication, the phone booth. This was enough to make Starsky stagger to his feet, hanging onto the rough brick of the closest building for support. Once standing, he felt somewhat more human even though his vision swam.

The glass-enclosed booth was no hallucination and he sighed with relief when he reached the relative safety and slid the angled glass door shut.

The only person he even thought about calling was Hutch. Luckily, his attackers hadn't rifled his pockets, or they'd have discovered his detective's shield. And he hadn't been wearing his Barretta tucked into its shoulder holster. Otherwise, he'd have been able to defend himself.

On the other hand, they two attackers might just have taken the gun when they'd taken Igor. Perhaps it was best that he hadn't been armed.

Starsky pulled himself out of his reverie, wondering how long he'd been zoned out, his hand in his jeans pocket, closed around a dime.

Fitting the dime into the slot at the top of the phone, Starsky began to dial Hutch's phone number, then remembered Hutch was supposed to be at his house. Hitting the coin return with a scraped and bloodied finger, he wearily started the whole process over again, pressing the buttons for his own home number.

"Hello?" Hutch's voice was tense and high pitched, but it gave Starsky an instant feeling of security. Hutch would take care of him.

"Hu'sh," Starsky muttered with a split lip. The utterance hardly sounded like his friend's name, but Hutch recognized it anyway.

"Starsky! Where are you?" Hutch's heart pounded even faster at the sound of Starsky's voice. He could hear the pain coming through loud and clear. "What happened?"

"Go' jumped," Starsky slurred, closing his eyes in relief. The glass was cool and smooth against his throbbing head and he rested his cheek on the window next to the phone.

"Where are you?" Hutch let his police persona slip over the freaked out friend. His first concern was finding his partner and getting him to medical help. "Are you hurt?"

"Yeah." Starsky sighed, "I don' know, uh...I'm near my car, I guess."

"Yeah, you're hurt?" Hutch repeated, "How badly?"

"I'll live." Starsky squinted down the block to the intersection. "Paloma and Delancy Streets."

"Stay right there." Hutch commanded, "I'll come get you."

"Hutch?"

"Yeah?" He'd started to hang up but heard his friend's voice again.

"Don' come with the lights and siren, there ain't no fire," Starsky requested tiredly.

"I promise." Hutch smiled, knowing that if Starsky were able to crack even so slight a joke, he'd be all right. "I'm coming."

Although the trip to Olivera Street had taken over half an hour that morning when all he'd had to think about was an enjoyable day spent with a friend, Hutch covered the distance in barely ten minutes when he was racing to rescue an injured partner. He cheated and used the siren on the freeway to get around a clump of slow moving vehicles but cut the ear piercing sound when he approached his destination. He was coming from the opposite direction than before since he'd started at Starsky's place instead of his own and had to watch carefully for Paloma Street. Finally he spotted Delancy and turned left, cruising down towards Paloma.

The first thing he saw was the bright red Torino, the new wax job making the white racing stripe gleam in the street lights, even in fog. That meant Starsky had to be a block or two further down. He saw the phone booth only a moment later, but there was no light on and he saw no sign of Starsky.

Parking the car facing the phone booth, he drew his gun, visually searching the surrounding area for any signs of danger. Were Starsky's muggers still around? It was unlikely but he stayed on high alert as he circled the glass box.

Starsky had pushed the door ajar to kill the overhead light and then slumped down below the level of the painted side advertising Southern California Bell, so he was hidden from prying eyes while waiting for his best friend to arrive. It was a chilly wait and he couldn't help wishing for a warmer jacket, among other things.

"Aw, Starsk." Hutch sighed, seeing his friend sprawled in the corner of the booth. He holstered his gun as he crouched down, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch Starsky's battered face. He was appalled by the sight, one whole side was skinned and raw from forehead to jawbone, his right eye swollen shut.

"Wha' took you so long?" Starsky used the old joke to defuse his emotions. He didn't want to cry in front of Hutch, even though he was so glad to see the blond that tears filmed his good eye.

"Had to stop for a hair cut and a shoe shine," Hutch joked, taking in the tentative way Starsky was moving. He undoubtedly had broken ribs. "Can you get up?"

"Usually." Starsky didn't protest the assist Hutch gave, shivering violently when Hutch pulled him close in a rough hug. "Ow...sorry." He winced at the pain the hug caused, reluctant to have Hutch let him go. His knees didn't seem capable of holding him up any longer.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Hutch said softly.

"No." Starsky pulled away, steadying himself on the phone booth, "No hospital, I'll be okay." He already felt bad enough without having to endure an evening of doctors and nurses poking and prodding him to see what was wrong.

"Starsky, this isn't a debatable issue," Hutch announced, taking his arm, "C'mon."

"Then we go in the Torino." Starsky was shivering so hard he had goosebumps, the fog like wet clouds swirling around their heads. 

Hutch took off his leather jacket, draping it over Starsky's shoulders. "That's almost two blocks away," Hutch pointed out. "My car is right here."

"I told you I just had it detailed, I don't wanna come back and find it stripped," Starsky argued stubbornly, "Nobody' d notice if half your hubcaps were missing-cause they already are."

"Starsky." Hutch sighed, knowing he was going to cave. He usually did, and he'd do whatever it took to get the curly haired man to a doctor. "Your car has been parked here all day, nothing's happened so far."

"I'm not temptin' fate." Starsky lifted his chin in a don't-challenge-me-right-now gesture, his swollen right eye adding a grotesque effect.

"Then, I'll go get it." Hutch resigned, pointing a threatening finger, "Don't go anywhere."

"Wasn't planning on goin' clubbing tonight anyways." Starsky grinned lopsidedly, leaning against the phone booth with his left arm wrapped tight around his chest.

The nearby hospital's ER was moderately full on a Saturday night and they had to wait in the uncomfortable plastic chairs while two combatants sporting nearly identical bullet wounds were dealt with first. But after an hour, Hutch could see that Starsky was visibly wilting, his face etched with pain, and used his detective badge as clout to get them to the head of the queue. They were ushered into an exam room posthaste and a slender nurse with a long braid of flaming red hair came in to do the initial assessment.

"I can get undressed by myself," Starsky said quickly, not willing to have his blue jeans or shirt cut off. The last few times he'd been in an ER, he'd arrived unconscious and lost two pair of perfectly good pants because the nurses had slit them up the legs to take them off. The nurse nodded and left him alone to wrestle with undressing. Hutch helped with out a word, unlacing his shoes and pulling them off, and then carefully sliding the hospital gown on. He'd grimaced in sympathy at the panoply of bruises mottling Starsky's chest particularly noting a pair of matching finger sized bruises on both wrists where someone had held his arms back. When the nurse returned, Starsky was perched on the exam table, trying not to feel completely stupid.

"Well, since your vitals are stable, you're not actively bleeding and you came in here more or less under your own power, I think I can leave you alone until the doctor comes in." Nurse Jilly McKenna finished recording Starsky's pertinent information. "He'll be in shortly," she said, leaving.

"What do you remember? Can you ID them?" Hutch asked, remembering another time he'd had to question Starsky while he sat with his legs dangling over the edge of an exam table and pushed that particular memory as far back as possible. This time he was only badly beaten, not dying from an unknown poison administered by a stocking masked man in the dark.

"They came from behind, I didn't see much." Starsky said mournfully, " Igor's gone, Hutch."

"What?" Hutch asked in surprise, because it sounded like a non-sequitor. "Did they get anything else? Your wallet? Your gun?"

"Wasn't wearing it." Starsky shook his head, then regretted it when the room dipped alarmingly. "Still have thirty bucks in my wallet."

"This is really strange-they beat you up and took that ugly figure?"

"Why' d'you think they wanted Igor?"

"Since I don't know why you wanted it, I can't fathom a guess." Hutch frowned, perplexed. "Close your eyes, describe them."

"Two Mexican guys..." Starsky struggled to separate fact from jumbled impressions, "I hit the wall and didn't see much after that... but one was taller...a straggly mustache, the other shorter and...mean looking,"

"Oh, my god." Hutch gasped, his belly twisting, "I saw them."

"Where?"

"In front of the liquor store." He remembered bumping into the taller of the two and seeing the stocky, tough looking man over the other's shoulder. Feeling sick he realized he could have prevented the whole thing if he'd only walked a little further down the sidewalk with Starsky. "Damn. I shoulda walked with you to your car..."

"Hutch, how could you have known?" Starsky reasoned, "Neither of us expected anything."

Just then the privacy curtain parted, reveling a youthful looking doctor with long shaggy brown hair, wearing rainbow striped suspenders. "Well, judging by the looks of things, I'd say you were David Starsky." He held out a hand, "Dr. Monroe Jefferson."

"Nice suspenders." Starsky complimented, shaking the proffered hand. He had an identical pair in his dresser drawer at home.

"Worked peds clinic all morning then came back here for a double." Jefferson explained, fitting his stethoscope earpieces into his ears, "All the junkies waiting in the chairs take one look and think they're having hallucinations."

"How long have you been you been a doctor?" Starsky asked, feeling old.

"Longer than you'd think." Monroe deflected the question. "How long ago were you shot?" He sounded both amazed and impressed at the visible scars when he pulled down the neck of Starsky's gown to listen to his heart.

"Just about two years, exactly." Starsky glanced up at Hutch but he was having trouble keeping his focus with only one eye. He always felt uncomfortable having to discuss his wounds and long convalescence.

"His records are over at Memorial." Hutch supplied, "Dr Davies was his primary doctor."

"I'll have to give them a call." Monroe nodded, starting a thorough exam. Starsky suffered the poking and prodding silently, only letting out one moan when the doctor touched a particularly sore spot. Truth be told, he was tired and in considerable pain by the time Dr. Jefferson was finished.

Nurse Jilly returned to start an IV and administer oxygen through a nasal cannula despite Starsky's objections. Then there was a brief visit to x-ray before he was allowed any painkillers. When Dr. Jefferson walked in carrying a large black and gray X-ray film, Starsky was finally beginning to feel slightly less like death warmed over.

"Well, you earned yourself an overnight stay in the county's finest Hospital, complete with wonderful care from some of Jilly's co-workers and a room complete with breakfast in bed." He announced, "No skull fracture, but a doozy of a concussion. Two broken, and two cracked ribs to add to your impressive collection of lacerations, bruises and abrasions."

"No chance I can go on home, huh?" Starsky knew he sounded whiney, but he felt like it, too.

"With your history, just call me cautious." Monroe scribbled some notes in the chart.

"I guess that makes you reckless." Hutch directed ruefully at his partner.

"This was not my fault. Don't start with me." Starsky complained.

"I called Memorial and talked to Dr. Davies." Monroe continued, "Everyone remembered you, you're famous over there."

"More like infamous." Hutch teased, "I don't know who was happier to have him leave, Starsky or the nurses."

"There you go, Dave, this might feel good." Jilly brought over an icepack for his eye. "A volunteer will be up soon to help push you upstairs to your room."

"I could walk." Starsky volunteered, holding the icepack in place.

"Not on my watch." Jilly answered archly.

"Watch yourself, Starsk." Hutch grinned, "She looks like a tough customer."

Jilly smirked at the compliment. She wouldn't mind getting to know either of the two handsome detectives better, at a later date. She signed her name to the nurse's notes in readiness of the patient's transfer up to the floor.

"Well, Detectives, I guess I should take care of some really sick people." Dr. Jefferson shook both their hands before moving on to the patient in the next cubicle. They were so close together that Starsky could hear him introducing himself to some other poor soul who had to spend his Saturday night in the ER.

"You gonna come up with me?" Starsky asked, trying to sound like it didn't make much difference to him.

"Starsky, where else would I be?" Under normal circumstances Hutch would have given the dark haired man a friendly cuff on the arm for that, but Starsky looked far too bruised for that. He laid a gentle hand on his shoulder instead, thankful for the opportunity to be able to do so.

"I'm hungry." Starsky announced as a pimply faced teenager arrived with a wheelchair.

"Is it okay for him to eat?" Hutch asked the nurse, who was cleaning up the debris left from the examination.

"I don't see why not. Just be careful and if it upsets your stomach, call your nurse upstairs." Jilly answered, crinkling her freckled nose, "You're officially off my hands when you wheel out of here."

"Then get me a hotdog with the works." Starsky ordered.

"One plain dog." Hutch pretended to write on a notepad.

"And a coke."

"No caffeine." Jilly gave her parting words of advice. "Take him to the fourth floor, Jimmy, Room 415."

"Fruit juice." Hutch added to his invisible list.

"Can't even give a condemned man his last meal?!" Starsky shot over his shoulder as he was wheeled out.

By the time Hutch was finished in the cafeteria, Starsky was tucked into his bed in 415, minus the O2 cannula. He reached out eagerly for the food, looking skeptically at the naked dog before taking a bite.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything else?" Hutch asked after both had eaten some of their food. He noticed Starsky had abandoned the bun in favor of eating the hotdog by itself, but even chewing seemed to be painful with his swollen, discolored lip.

"It all happened really fast." Starsky swallowed, the lasting impressions of the beating still very raw and frightening. Just thinking about it intensified all his aches and pains, catching his breath in his sore chest.

"It really worries me that they were obviously following you." Hutch finished the last of his tunafish sandwich and chugged some apple juice to wash it down with. He'd only just rediscovered his hunger again after the tense hours waiting in Starsky's apartment. "Maybe they saw you coming out of the shop and decided to steal it?"

"It was in Gueverra's." Starsky remembered unwrapping his prize while they were having drinks and seeing two men talking to the waitress at the bar.

To hide his distress, he tried opening the bag of pretzels but his raw, scraped fingers were clumsy. "Shit." He fumbled with the bag until Hutch took it, slitting the top. "I d-didn't even get a chance to fight back."

"Looks like you did to me." Hutch handed back the plastic bag, cradling the injured hand for a moment.

"That's more from getting' thrown on the ground and stomped on." Starsky's voice trembled slightly but he'd composed himself by the time Hutch snuck a pretzel. That ordinary little habit of Hutch's lightened the mood enough to give Starsky a smile. He selected a pretzel of his own, but with his lip split, the salt stung the open wound and he gave up on the snack, nibbling instead on a chocolate chip cookie.

Hutch knocked some of the salt off another pretzel before eating it, watching Starsky having to struggle just to eat his meal. Silently cursing the two attackers, Hutch considered how lucky Starsky had been. What if they'd smashed his head just a little harder against that brick wall? He could have had a major skull fracture and all the inherent dangers associated with that instead of a relatively minor concussion. "You need to get some rest." Hutch said. "Lie down and get comfortable, I'll give you a back rub."

"You must mean comfortable in the hypothetical sense of the word." Starsky sniped, but cautiously angled himself down in the bed, trying to stretch out without exacerbating any of his injuries. Unfortunately, any movement sent flashes of pain up the right side of his chest, clamping his lungs so that breathing was a real chore. Hutch rearranged some of the pillows to make a soft nest so that Starsky was finally able to lie on his left side, facing away from Hutch. As long as he didn't change position, he was relatively comfortable, all things considered.

"Where do you want to be?" Hutch asked softly. While Starsky had been recuperating in the hospital for months after Gunther's shooting, they had both been taught a self-hypnosis technique to deal with the intense pain caused by the bullets. Now it took only that simple phrase to drop Starsky back into the same mindset.

"In my car...drivin' to the beach." Starsky murmured, closing his good eye. He felt the mattress dip when Hutch sat down behind him and scootched over to give the long legged man more room.

"It's warm and peaceful there, huh?" Hutch smiled fondly, gently rubbing the triangle of back exposed by the gap in Starsky's hospital gown, careful to avoid touching any bruised areas.

"Yeah, an' I've got a picnic. Nothing fancy, just bologna sandwiches." He continued drowsily, "You brought the bananas."

"I'm there, too, huh?" Hutch laughed.

"A' course." Starsky snorted, then stiffened when the backrub came perilously close to painful ribs. He panted audibly with his mouth open to avoid expressing the pain out loud, but it took several long minutes to recompose himself.

"You okay?" Hutch asked anxiously, immediately still his hand but maintaining the skin to skin contact. "Should I call a nurse?"

"Yeah, fine." Starsky assured in a kind of verbal shorthand, "just lyin' on the beach with my best friend."

"Eating bananas."

"Eating bananas. The sun is going down but the sand is really warm and the tide is going out, so only my toes are getting' wet." Starsky visibly relaxed, drifting easily into slumber.

"Sleep well, buddy." Hutch whispered, hitching the blanket up to cover him. He sat on the edge of the bed watching his partner sleep for nearly half an hour, lost in thought. Who had done this? He wanted to watch over him for the rest of the night to ensure that no further harm came to him, but another part of him needed some kind of action, now. He wanted to go after those two assholes and bust their heads in for so cavalierly beating and robbing his best friend and dumping him in an alley.

Just before midnight an older nurse with gray streaked black hair stuck her head in the door, "I'm Marie, the night nurse," she introduced herself. "I've got to get a set of vitals. Is there anything you need?"

"Just keep an eye on him." Hutch stood, stretching out the kinks from having sat so still for so long, "I need to leave, but I'll call later to see how he's doing."

Knowing he should go home and get some rest, Hutch pointed the Torino in the direction of Parker Center. His body was too jacked up on adrenaline to sleep now anyway and he wanted to get started on finding out who Starsky's assailants were before the trail got too cold. What possible motive did they have to steal that ugly piece of junk?

The detective squadroom was deserted at half past midnight. There was an almost eerie atmosphere without the usual constantly ringing phones and the lights turned down low. That suited Hutch's mood perfectly, he wasn't in the right frame of mind to be chatting aimlessly with anyone, anyway. There were always people working at a police department any hour of the day or night but most of the detectives must have been out working on a case.

Hutch hauled out the mugbooks, dumping them onto the desk he shared with Starsky. After getting himself a cup of bitter, only lukewarm coffee, he started flipping the pages of photographs. Hundreds of criminals stared out at him, all convicted of some illegal act or another. What made any of these people do what they did? He began to feel disheartened because he'd sat with many a witness pouring over these books without ever getting one hit. Then, amazingly, on the last page, bingo, he found what he was looking for. There was the tough looking hombre, squared off chin, nose that had been broken one too many times, lip curled in a sneer for the photographer. The improbable name of Jesuchristo Valdez was printed on the label underneath. The other man's picture popped up within minutes of opening up second mug book. Hutch recognized the straggly mustache and piercing black eyes in a long, angular face that could have been painted by El Greco. Tito Ramirez.

Valdez and Ramirez, the two men responsible for Starsky's beating. With a feeling of doing something constructive, Hutch pulled both their rap sheets. The bile in his stomach rose bitterly into his esophagus as he scanned their lists of crimes. Both were hardened criminals with dozens of charges after their names. Valdez, in particular, was well known for aggravated assault and battery.

He filled out preliminary reports on the mugging and put out an APB on Valdez and Ramirez, Xeroxing their mug shots to include with the paper work. Then, finally thoroughly exhausted, he drove home through early morning streets, vowing to make those two pay for what they'd done to Starsky.

++++++++++++++

"Damn, you Bicho, you hit on Montoya too hard," Tito Ramirez groused, setting the rescued black faced figurine on the table in his dockside warehouse. "He'll go to the police and they'll be on our backs by the morning."

"What? You ain't gonna complain about pounding the _manoto_ who took the idol," Bicho Valdez sneered, rolling his right shoulder. He loved a good fight and two in one night put him in a great mood. Adrenaline still zinged through his blood like wildfire. He needed a woman, soon, to relieve the throbbing between his thighs. Smashing some stupid fool in the guts always left him wanting more. More power, more action, more violence. It was almost as good as heroin, but a pure high without any of the annoying side effects that shooting up left.

"Hell, that _bandejo_ deserved it. Takin' stuff that didn't belong to him," Ramirez dismissed, "If Montoya bitches to the police cause of the way we left his shop..."

"He's too scared of this," Bicho's flat, pug face broke into a wide grin as he flexed his fist. "He'll hide out somewhere for a coupla days and then be back sellin' the shit for us."

"He's out of the deal," Ramirez shook his head, fingers smoothing his thin mustache, "Can't be trusted. He knew better'n to sell one of the special statues to a total stranger. I already called Sebastiani, he was mad as hell when he got to the shop and nobody was there. Took a lot of persuading to assure him we had his stuff and t'meet us here."

"Not me, I'm outta here. Gotta find some skirt." Bicho gave a wave of one hand, heading out. He wasn't really interested in the actual sales, anyway. As long as he got the money and had nights like this one, his life was damned near to perfect. And how many people could say that?

+++++++++++++++++

"Took you long enough to get here," Starsky accused. He'd been ready to leave at the crack of dawn but his physician hadn't filled out the discharge papers until nearly noon.

"Unlike some people, I had more things to do than sit around all morning in bed," Hutch responded without rancor, a fond smile on his face. He'd already been back to the police department to spearhead the investigation. The other detectives on the force were more than willing to add on the extra caseload after hearing what the two attackers had done to Starsky. "Are you ready to go?"

"Well, did you bring me some clothes?" Starsky plucked at the skimpy hospital gown.

"I couldn't find anything clean, so I brought these." Hutch teased, holding out a gym bag with a change of clothes he'd picked up from Starsky's house. In reality, his partner was much more of a neat nick than he was.

"These ARE clean." Starsky retorted, pulling out a striped tee shirt and jeans. He felt awkward and clumsy in the tight Velcro brace the doctor had insisted he wear to protect his broken ribs and had difficulty pulling the shirt over his head. Without a word Hutch untangled it from his arms and tugged it down over Starsky's chest. After Gunther's assassination attempt, there had been days when he'd had to do everything for Starsky. Helping him get his shirt on was nothing new.

"You all right?" Hutch asked seriously, seeing how winded he was from just the minimal activity. In the morning light, Starsky's bruises looked even more horrific, the right side of his face raw and glistening with some sort of antibiotic cream. His eye was less puffy, but still swollen shut and his skin still had the pale, greenish complexion of someone who didn't feel at all well.

"I will be once we get out of here." Starsky walked slowly, guarding his ribs, into the small bathroom to finish getting ready. " When you called, you said you found their mug shots?"

Digging the copies of the mug shot photos out of his jacket pocket, Hutch placed them on the bed table. "Yeah, see if you can identify anybody?"

Reemerging from the bathroom with his shoes dangling by the laces from his hand, Starsky glanced at the pile of photos warily. "I really didn't see them very well." He confessed. "I hit that wall and couldn't see straight after that."

Swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, Hutch struggled to maintain a professional demeanor, It wouldn't do Starsky any good if he couldn't stand listening to accounts of the beating. Nothing could deter him from finding those responsible. "Just take a look, anything you remember. You described 'em well enough for me to make an ID."

"You saw 'em longer than I did." Starsky sighed, picking up the pictures. The first was a grizzled Mexican man, far too old to be one of his muggers. The second one actually brought a smile to his face, "That's a picture of me." He tossed it on the sheets.

"I thought you fit right in." Hutch smirked.

"Oh, damn." Starsky's hand shook when he looked at the third photo. It was more of a gut feeling than real recognition, but the flattened nose and sneering mouth made his stomach knot up and his chest tighten. "That one."

"Jesuchristo Valdez." Hutch said the name aloud, then waited for him to find the second photo.

The last picture didn't look familiar at first, but the fierce hawk-like eyes haunted him and he remembered seeing those eyes staring at him across the bar in Gueverra's, sending a shiver down his spine. He glanced over at Hutch, seeing the confirmation on his face. "What's his name?" He asked in a voice that was a tad too squeaky.

"Tito Ramirez. Both have rap sheets as long as your arm, they're into all kinds of shit-mostly drugs and numbers running from what it looks like, although Valdez did time for A and B."

"Yeah, I could tell a pro." Starsky winced at the pull on his ribs from just picking up one shoe out of the gym bag. "They wouldn't have even marked my face except I hit the wall so hard." He tried to bend down to place the shoe on his foot, but between the tight brace and his shortness of breath, he couldn't manage even that easy activity. "When are we getting out of here?" He asked, head down to hide his embarrassment.

"As soon as you finish getting dressed." Hutch took the blue and white shoe, sliding it onto the waiting foot without a word. He knew Starsky resented this return to the helplessness he'd endured after Gunther's bullets, even if it was temporary. Easier just to pretend everything was normal and this was the way it always was. Easier to pretend, but not easier to bear.

A petite Asian nurse came in bearing the usual discharge instructions and the obligatory wheelchair.

"I don't need that." Starsky protested. He hated the ride through the halls, being pushed from behind, with everyone able to see how weak he was, how vulnerable. "They make me feel stupid."

"Hospital rules." The nurse shrugged, holding out the papers.

"C'mon, pard'ner." Hutch affected a drawl like a cowboy sidekick, "Time t'saddle up and ride on out." He hooked the gym bag over the back, waiting until Starsky sat reluctantly in the seat. "I'll push." He grinned at the nurse, leading the way down to the elevator.

Starsky held the papers in his lap, remembering the last time he'd ridden down the halls of a hospital. Only that time he had needed the ride. That time he'd been barely able to walk a dozen feet under his own power. Time heals all wounds. Or as Hawkeye on the TV show MASH had quipped, "Time wounds all heels." Whichever way, both were valid. Only he was so damned tired of hurting.

After stopping at the pharmacy for the discharge pain meds and a deli for some lunch, Hutch pulled the Torino up in front of Starsky's picturesque home. The long narrow staircase up to the front door never got any shorter, and Starsky stared up at his goal with a sigh.

"It's gonna be a long haul." He climbed out of the car, taking each step with precision. It was indeed a chore and by the time he'd made it inside the house he was more exhausted than he'd ever expected. His ribs started a chorus of aches, with his head joining the harmony on a different key. He found it almost difficult to concentrate on the food Hutch placed in front of him, but knew taking the pain pill on an empty stomach had made him nauseated before, so he'd better eat.

Hutch watched Starsky attempt to get his bruised and split lip over the typical overstuffed deli sandwich, then abandon the effort. Starsky picked the turkey off the soft roll and ate slowly, not really caring what he put in his stomach.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hutch asked.

"I just wonder what they wanted with Igor." Starsky washed down the meat with some root beer. "Even I'll admit he didn't mean much to anybody but me. I just liked the look of his face."

"It's a mystery to me." Hutch took a deep breath to rid himself of the tightness that still clamped his chest. If the muggers had been any rougher, or God forbid, carrying a gun, Starsky might have been seriously injured instead of just banged up. "If you're finished, go stretch out on the bed."

"I'm not tired," Starsky protested like a small boy, "Hutch, don't mother hen me, the bullet wounds healed up a long time ago."

"Starsky, you scared the hell out of me, I think I have a right to do a little mother henning, as you call it." Hutch said more sharply than he'd meant to, then smiled to soften the sting, "You weren't in the hospital twenty four hours, the doctor didn't discharge you so you could go down to the department and start investigating the crime."

"I oughta be in on it, I was the one who got mugged."

"Starsk, get some rest, I'll clean up." Hutch groaned in exasperation, sometimes it was like arguing with a stubborn six year old.

With a grumble, Starsky struggled out of the uncomfortable brace around his ribs, sighing in relief when he'd completed the task. His ribs hurt from all the exertion, but he could lie down without feeling like he was being gripped in a vice. Eschewing the bed, since he'd already spent more than enough time in a bed the last day, Starsky curled up on the couch. He'd meant to turn on the TV, but after pulling the afghan up around his shoulders, he fell asleep almost immediately.

It took Hutch no time at all to tidy the apartment. Starsky had always been a neat nick. While the shelves and drawers were cluttered with a wide array of collectibles, curios and hobbies, everything was kept neat and dusted. Hutch spent more time than usual examing the bevy of knickknacks noting that Igor would have fit right in next to a squat angry faced Mexican idol with bands of turquoise blue and two comical wide eyed figurines who ogled each other from opposite sides of the idol.

The phone jangled from the wall next to the kitchen and Hutch crossed the room in three strides to keep the ringing from waking his sleeping partner.

"Hello?" He asked quietly.

"That you, Hutch?" Darryl Washington, the youngest of the precinct's detectives and a former MVP from Georgia Tech's famed football team rumbled. His voice was a basso profundo, a full octave lower than Hutch's own.

"What did you find, Brick?" Hutch used the man's nickname and it fit him. Big, solid, dependable and strong.

"The waitress at Gueverra's 'mitted that Tito Ramirez was her brother-her name is Angela Ramirez. Anyhow, she says he hangs 'round to bar to quote 'bug the shit out of her.' But she ain't seem hide nor hair of him since sometime around when you and Little Davey was in there yesterday."

"Typical." Hutch sighed, shifting the phone between his right ear and shoulder so he could perch on the kitchen stool. "Got a current address on Ramirez?"

"Sister claims she don't know it. And the one on his rap sheet's a vacant lot."

"What about the shopkeeper?"

"He's one Guillermo Montoya-didn't open the place this mornin', but we had a warrant t'search, so the owner of the burrito place next door let us in."

"And?"

"Front o'the place looked fine as frog's hair, but the back was trashed. Bits a' pottery all over the place and a whole lotta brown powder..."

"Heroin?" Hutch asked, not liking the way this was going in the least.

"Give the man a dollah. Mexican brown H and the lab guys say there musta been coupla kilos from the way it's spilled in dribs and drabs all over the floor, in cracks...all over the broken crockery."

"Damn, they were smuggling it up from Mexico in the statues." Hutch exclaimed angrily. Nothing made his hackles rise like drug dealers. His brief addiction, forced on him by a cruel mobster had left him with both a soft spot for addicts and a burning hatred of those who sold the vile substance.

"Who?" Starsky asked sleepily from the couch. "They were smuggling horse in Igor?"

"Starsky, just a minute." Hutch called, unhappy that he'd awakened. "Brick, anything else?"

"Well, this kin wait 'til tomorrow. We need you or Starsky to...uh...identify some remains." Washington faltered.

"What?"

"Little pieces of pottery. See if it's the one that was stolen."

"Does he need us down there?" Starsky got up, walking stiffly.

"And Montoya, the shopkeeper, what does he say about all this?" Hutch asked, raising one finger to his best friend to forestall Starsky's questions.

"Can't find him either. Not at his house, or his wife's-don't ask."

"Get a list of relatives and haul his ass in." Hutch growled. "Did you search his place for a customer list?"

"Don't fret, Hutch, in the works." Washington promised.

Starsky leaned up close enough to Hutch to talk into the receiver, "Brick, didja find Igor?"

"Who's he?"

"About a foot high, black with gold earrings and headdress..." Starsky began before Hutch reclaimed the phone.

"Nevermind the lunatic." Hutch dismissed, "Keep us informed, Brick, thanks." He hung up, a frown deepening the furrow between his eyebrows, hardening his face. "Drugs, lots of heroin."

"I broke open a smuggling ring without even knowin' it?" Starsky sat gingerly at the table, absently rubbing his aching ribs, "Kinda makes this worth it."

"Nothing was worth that." Hutch winced in sympathy at the still appalling bruises and scrapes down the side of Starsky's face. "How're you feeling?"

"Ready to go to work." Starsky said defiantly, "Find these turkeys and make 'em pay...for Igor's sake."

"Starsky, I will never understand that brain of yours." Hutch place a loving hand on the back of the curly haired man's neck, afraid to apply any sort of pressure because he knew Starsky was hurting a lot more than he was letting on.

"Tell me what Brick said while we're driving." Starsky opened the closet door for his holstered Baretta and a light jacket.

"And if I say no?" Hutch challenged just for the sport of it.

"Then I'll drive myself and that would make you crazy." Starsky's evil but lopsided grin combined with his colorful swollen eye gave him a demented Popeye look.

"Starsky, you've got to slow down! You can't go out slaying dragons right now. You were just beat up last night."

"Hutch, I didn't even make it to my own due date. My mom said I came out one month early rarin' to go."

"I can believe that. You must have been terrifying as a two year old." Hutch shuddered, still very much against Starsky coming down to Parker Center.

"I promise, I'll sit in the car while you an' Brick go interview the suspects." Starsky raised his deep blue eyes like a soulful child in the church play, "I'll take it easy, just let me come."

"I know you, you aren't physically capable of waiting in the background." Hutch pulled on his own jacket with a frustrated jerk. "Get in the car." He groaned, "But I'm going on record that this is a bad idea! Just so you know that."

"Already did." Starsky smirked.

++++++++++++++++++++

"Start a fight, Little Davey?" Darryl Washington asked when Starsky and Hutch came through the doors of the Ninth precinct detective's squadroom.

"More like he was a punching bag." Hutch said tensely, sitting down at his desk to flip through the stack of reports the latest case had already generated since he'd been gone all morning.

"The guy was like Ali or Foreman, I was outclassed," Starsky griped.

"Looks like you opened up a can'a worms." Washington tipped the smaller man's chin up so he could inspect the damage. At six four and upwards of two hundred thirty pounds Washington was by far the biggest detective on the force. His sheer size intimidated some criminals, but his sweet nature, southern accent and gentle approach made him a favorite with kids and old ladies. "Nice eye, Little Davey."

"When are you gonna stop calling me that?" Starsky retorted. It was their usual exchange. They'd been saying nearly the same words for over a year now.

"When you grow taller." Washington shrugged. "Ah made out pre'lim'nary reports on what we got this mornin' there, Hutch, but the stuff you need ta see is in the lab."

Spread out on a clean sheet waiting for them were an assortment of small bits of crockery, all colors and all shapes. Starsky fingered one or two of the largest pieces, finally picking up a section of brown pottery decorated with a sliver of gold leaf. "Igor ain't here." He concluded.

"Then they musta taken it with them." Hutch sighed, "They must have a warehouse where they receive the shipments before sending them out to distributors."

"An' Montoya probably ain't th'only one." Washington put in.

"Did you get his customer list checked out?" Hutch asked.

"Anderson has it."

Starsky sat gingerly on a stool, his eyes still on the shards of pottery. He was hurting, tired and discouraged. What he'd thought would be a fun day of shopping had turned into a major drug case.

"Starsky, I'll drive you back home." Hutch saw how pale he looked, his jaw tight with withheld pain.

"Nah, I'm okay. I wanna talk to that shopkeeper. What was his name?"

"Guillermo Montoya." Washington supplied, also concerned with the smaller man's color.

"And that waitress doesn't know where her brother lives?" Starsky asked incredulously.

"You didn't know your brother had moved to Florida til you mother told you last month." Hutch pointed out.

"We don't live in the same state in the first place, an' we're not talkin' about Nicky." Starsky rankled, "We're talkin' about some scumbag who hangs out in his sister's bar but doesn't tell her where he lives?"

Back in the squadroom, Washington looked through his report, "No parents listed or any other next o' kin ceptin' for Angela. Maybe a girlfriend?"

"Brick!" Anderson came into the room waving a sheath of papers, "Hey, Starsky, go ten rounds with Ali?"

"I tol' ya." Starsky said to no one in particular.

"Well, since all of you are here." Lou Anderson held out the papers, "Got an address on Montoya's aunt. The burrito guy says he stays there a lot to take care of her prize-winning orchids, Ain't that a kick?"

"Orchids take a lot of care." Hutch nodded, he tried to grow the plants but been discouraged by the lengthy wait for any of the delicate blossoms.

"Let's get goin' then." Starsky said eagerly, starting out of the room.

"Whoa, Little Davey, who said you could come?"

"It's my case."

"Starsky, don't you have any sense of self preservation at all?" Hutch threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Apparently not." Starsky retorted dryly, "But I'll still let you drive."

"Give me the address." Hutch looked over at Anderson for understanding. The other detective laughed shortly, handing him the appropriate page. "Keep looking for Ramirez and Valdez."

"Yessir, Sergeant Hutch'son." Washington gave him a snappy salute with a teasing light in his black eyes.

"Wait." Starsky paused at the door to the hall, "Lou, where's Montoya's customer list?"

"This probably isn't the whole thing, filing apparently wasn't his thing." Anderson said disapprovingly, his graying eyebrows arched over equally gray eyes, but pulled a goldenrod colored paper from the bunch in his hand. "It looks pretty recent though."

"Thanks." Starsky tucked it into his pocket to peruse on the drive over to Montoya's house.

++++++++++++++++++++

"Starsk, wake up." Hutch called. The drive across the smoggy L.A. basin had taken nearly an hour. Starsky had succumbed to sleep about twenty minutes into the drive, the goldenrod sheet of paper dropping out of lax fingers onto his lap. "We're here."

"Huh?" Starsky asked groggily then focused on the house they were parked in front of. It was a suburban tract house with a colonial style front and a long expanse of lawn curving up a slightly hilly front yard. "Nice place."

"Yah, The sister must do pretty well for herself. Wonder where she is?"

"Maybe she travels the world over lookin' for rare species of orchids to add to her collection. Then works in her lab devising wicked hybrids of the plants to someday rule the world." Starsky embellished.

"Okay, no more Creature Features for you for about a year." Hutch chuckled dryly. "More like she's visiting relatives in Mexico or something."

"Spoilsport." Starsky straightened, undergoing the transformation Hutch always found somewhat amazing when he knew his partner was under the weather or in pain. To the outward observance he didn't appear in pain in the least, although the bruising on his face gave the game away to a certain extent.

Hutch rang the bell, standing to the right side of the door. Starsky had positioned himself to the left, his hand tucked up under his jacket, near but not actually touching his holstered gun. Both detectives knew from hard experience never to stand directly in front of an unknown door. Too easy for someone inside to shoot at them through the wooden panel. "Mr. Montoya?" Hutch called, "It's the police. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Maybe he's not at home?" Starsky asked with a slight sarcastic edge, but just then he heard the distinct sound of footsteps from inside the house.

The door opened to reveal the shopkeeper, but his appearance from the first time they had seen him was as altered as Starsky's had been. The man's eyes widened in surprise to see his customer in the guise of the police. Hutch gave Starsky a silent, 'well, what do you know?' taking in Montoya's bruises.

"Got hit by the same truck I did, huh?" Starsky placed his foot over the threshold and one hand on the door to prevent it being shut in their faces.

"I don' know what you're talking about." He said evasively, "If you came to roust me, I gotta green card..."

"We don't care about your immigration status." Hutch informed him somewhat harshly, "Although the INS may have something to say when they find out you've been involved with drug smuggling."

"Drugs?" He gasped theatrically, "I import rare, antique figures. That one you bought was probably made thousands o'years ago."

"More like last winter." Starsky pushed hard enough on the door to make the smaller man jump backwards. "Are you gonna invite us in or are you gonna let all the neighbors in on all your secrets?"

"Who beat you up?" Hutch asked, once they were all inside and the front door was shut.

"I was in a car accident," Montoya insisted.

Starsky took a look around, wandering into the first room on the left, which proved to be a living room. Comfortable looking furniture, a TV and small red brick fireplace made the home a cozy one, but the proliferation of truly beautiful orchids gave the place the air of a fancy salon. There were all sorts, with colors ranging from pure white to an unusual pale green. Phalaenopsis, cynbidium and Vandas were the only ones Starsky recognized by name, but there were dozens of other flowers taking up every inch of shelf space in the room. A quick glance into the adjoining room confirmed his theory that the house was literally crammed with the exotic flowers.

"S'like being in Hawaii here," he commented.

"Be careful, my sister is very particular about her flowers," Montoya worried. "I cannot tell you anything. I sold you an art object. I canno' help you if you got beat up."

"Who told you I was beat up." Starsky said in a low, dangerous voice.

"You said..."

"He said he was hit by a truck." Hutch corrected, "I asked you who beat you up."

"Let me guess..." Starsky put a comradely arm around the Mexican's shoulders, "Tall guy with a joke of a mustache, Tito Ramirez, and his pit bull, Valdez."

" _Madre de Dios._ " Montoya prayed in Spanish, pulling away. "They'll kill me if I tell you anything..."

"We can get you protection." Hutch offered gently, "But if we found you here, so can they."

"I didn' want to do it, but I wasn't makin' enough to pay the rent!" He wailed, the bruises on his face standing out sharply in contrast to his unusually pale brown cheeks.

"They forced you to be the go-between?" Starsky asked, his tone indicating he wasn't buying it.

"They said no one would suspect-I have just a poor shop...I cannot go to jail."

"Where is their warehouse?" Starsky fired back, his aches and pains momentarily forgotten in the excitement of the interrogation. "Give us the names of people you sold figures to. How did you know who was a buyer? Was there a code?"

"But you knew it." Montoya said, backing up until he was up against the arm of the sofa looking very frightened.

"The word unique." Hutch guessed, remembering the exchange between Starsky and Montoya at the register. The little shopkeeper had resisted until Starsky had uttered that one word.

"I thought... you were a new man, that..." He groaned pointing at Starsky, "Bicho'll come back an' kill me now for sure."

"Not if you co-operate." Hutch helped the distraught man to sit on the floral sofa. He and Starsky had slipped into their usual ways-perhaps not quite a real version of good cop/bad cop, since Starsky wasn't in any condition to be more than mildly threatening, broken ribs and all, but he was definitely going for the more aggressive stance, leaving Hutch to be the sympathetic one. "We can offer you immunity and police protection if you give us the information we need."

"Where is the warehouse where Ramirez and Valdez store the figures filled with heroin until they come to your shop?" Starsky repeated for clarity. "And do they use any more small businesses like yours?"

"I don't know."

"The names on this list." Starsky held out the goldenrod sheet with a list of customer names, "Are these the people who buy the heroin filled statues?"

"No, these are just the names of customers who've bought items in the last month. Legitimate purchases. I don't know where Tito and Bicho work. They always come to me."

"Aw, c'mon, you must get shipment inventories. What does it say on the return address?" Starsky persisted, knowing the papers Washington had found had only listed the original Mexican shipping address and Montoya's shop. "And how do you find out who gets which figure?"

Montoya took a shuddery breath, hiding his battered face in his hands. "I should never have gotten involved with them. Marisol warned me..."

"Marisol is your sister?" Hutch asked, as if he didn't know. "She sounds like an intelligent woman."

"She is." He nodded. "And she would want me to do what's right. But how can you keep me safe, eh?"

"If you give us what we need to prosecute these men, they'll be in prison for a long time."

Finally, the man was persuaded to talk, explaining how Ramirez and Valdez had threatened him into working for them and gave Starsky and Hutch the descriptions of the buyers who'd come into his place of business. The code words were changed from week to week, but not the buyers. When the two detectives managed to persuade Montoya to go with them to the local police department in his sister's neighborhood, he was able to identify several known drug dealers and give a sworn statement.

Montoya admitted that he received a list in the mail each week of which figures were to go to which dealers and collected the money. The seventy dollars Starsky had paid was about average for one idol, and several of the dealers often bought more than one. On Fridays he destroyed the list, and had been warned adamantly not to leave it lying around in the shop. On that fateful Saturday, he had not yet received a new list for the week, since the mail had not yet arrived. When Valdez came in to beat him up, bearing the stolen Igor statue with him, he had also taken all the just delivered mail, gas and electric bills along with the dealer list. Montoya had not been back to the shop since, fleeing fifty miles across the valley to his sister's home in terror.

Starsky had been somewhat comforted by the news that Igor was still in one piece after his beating, but assumed that the black and gold idol had been sold and destroyed since then.

"We need a way to get close to Ramirez and Valdez--catch them in the act of selling the statues." Hutch mused, after leaving Montoya alone in his sister's home with added police drive-bys to keep an eye on him. "Washington and I can track down some of the names on that list. Compare them with the names of known dealers and pushers."

"What about me? Split three ways it'd go a lot faster." Starsky said tiredly, his left arm wrapped protectively around his chest. His ribs hurt with a fury, making breathing more painful than it was ever supposed to be. The swelling around his right eye had reduced even more, giving him better focus in that eye, but the raw wound down the side of his face stung and he was exhausted. Because he hated the Velcro vest so much, he'd forgone wearing it, which was probably a mistake. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but knew they'd have to transport Montoya's statement back to their own precinct and write up reports before going home. And he hadn't eaten since Hutch had brought him home from the hospital at noon which seemed a very long time ago, indeed.

"You're going straight home." Hutch insisted, appalled that he'd kept Starsky out all afternoon. Where had the time gone? "You just got out of the hospital today, for God's sake. Your doctor is going to kill us both if he finds out I let you interrogate a suspect."

"You let me?" Starsky repeated frostily. "I'm an adult, Hutch, I can make my own decisions. Yah, I feel like crap right now, but we got a solid lead on this case, and that makes it worth while."

"Well, it's not exactly what your doctor had in mind when he let you go so soon." Hutch persisted, "Close your eyes. I'll stop at a deli and get us some soup when we're closer to your house. We can phone in the lead later."

"Sounds like a plan." Starsky agreed sleepily. There was no way to get comfortable in the car seat, hell, he wouldn't have been all that comfortable in his own bed, but he dropped off to sleep before they'd gotten onto the freeway back to their own part of town.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shedding her hospital uniform for more comfortable tee shirt and slacks, Jilly McKenna left St. Joseph's out the side emergency department door. She headed across the currently empty ambulance parking area to the employee lot at the far end of the property with her head up and a jaunty step for someone who'd been as busy as she all evening. She'd worked swing shift, three to eleven, for most of her career as a nurse and had no qualms about walking around a nearly midnight by herself. Especially since the Tae Kwon do class she'd been taking. Mentally going over moves, she was therefore startled when a dark shape separated itself from the side of a van and moved towards her.

"Jillyjillyjilly," the man singsonged, "Jillybabygirl."

"God, Bicho." She took in a shaky breath, trying to slow her heart rate. "You scared me, I didn't expect to see you around here after..."

"Jilly." Valdez snaked a hand around her slim waist, tugging on the long braid handing down her back. "I missed you, Jillybaby."

"I missed you, too." Jilly let him kiss her, acting as if it didn't send tingly waves down to her toes. "I just thought you wouldn't ever come back after they fired you."

"This ain't the only job, baby." He kissed her again, tasting a breath mint, lingering for long moments. "I thought I'd take you out for a coupla drinks."

"Oh, I got my class in the morning." She protested, "I need to be alert for Tae Kwon do."

"Don't know why a pretty girl like you'd want to do all that fightin' and shit." He nuzzled her warm neck, "Just one drink?"

"Just one." Jilly agreed, knowing they'd never stop there. She'd been attracted to Bicho Valdez in the short time he'd been employed at the hospital in the medical records department as a file clerk. They'd gotten together on a number of occasions for drinks and casual sex, but they had never been a serious couple. She'd been disappointed, but not surprised when he'd been fired for a number of violations, not the least of which was stealing drugs. There was an air of mystery and danger about Bicho Valdez which quickened her pulse even when he was just standing still, and every time they were together, she yearned to know more about the little man.

They ended up in a dark little bar where Bicho fondled her breasts while they did tequila shooters. Jilly could feel the stress of working in an emergency room slip away after three drinks and was more than willing to let Bicho come back to her apartment for a little recreation.

Sex with Bicho was always quick and rather violent, with Jilly often sporting a few bruises afterwards. They were luckily easily hidden under clothes, and she pulled a bathrobe on against the early morning chill, wincing.

"You get any beatings in the hospital last night?" Bicho lit a short, slender cigar, taking short puffs, while running a proprietary hand down her exposed belly.

"On Sunday night?" She shivered at the desire his simple gesture ignited. The cigar smoke curled languidly around her like a ghostly caress.

"Saturday, baby."

"It wouldn't be a Saturday without half a dozen beatings." She arched her body towards his as his hand dipped further south.

"A guy with curly hair? Scraped down the side of his face."

"Why? You know him?" Jilly stiffened, pulling away from his questing fingers. Instead of letting her go, Bicho's hand tightened painfully around her pubis, digging in.

"Bicho, that hur..."

"You took care of that guy?" He questioned more sharply.

"The cop, yeah."

"That fucker was a cop?!" He abruptly let go, causing her to slump against the bedroom wall.

"He was with his partner." Jilly answered shakily. What was this about?

"A tall blond guy. Damn, he got a good look at us." Bicho stood, pacing around the tiny room, carelessly treading on Jilly's lacy panties and a pink and white teddy bear. "Did they tell you anything? What did they say?"

"Bicho, I don't know anything!" She cried shrilly, "I started an IV, got his vitals, that kind of thing. They don't tell the nurses much."

"Huh, you can get a guy to tell you just about anything, Jillybaby, with those big baby blues and that pretty face." He said savagely, taking hold of her long hair again, but this time it wasn't a playful tug. " Did they know who beat him up?"

"N-no, I don't think so." Jilly replied, more frightened of him than she had ever been. She tried to think of a Tae Kwon do move that would over power him, but her brain was frozen in the moment.

"What was the cop's name?"

"That's confidential. I could get fired if the hospital found out..."

Bicho's right hand connected hard with her face, splitting her lower lip. "What was the cop's name, Jil-ly." He singsonged her name again, but with a nasty undercurrent. "Or those pretty freckles will be covered with blood real quick."

In the end, Jilly told him everything she knew and just prayed he would finish with her quickly before he left. She didn't make her Tae Kwon do class in the morning and later called in sick lying that she had the cramps.

++++++++++++++++++

Monday morning, Hutch was actually happy to have to go testify in court, for the first time in his career as an officer of the law. It gave Starsky a good excuse to just stay at home and rest. Hutch almost hoped the judge would drag the proceedings out all afternoon, for Starsky's sake, but doubted that would happen. It was a fairly obvious open and shut case--a known drug dealer who'd been caught with the goods in hand, except that sleazy lawyers had kept the case from going to court for years with missfilings and continuances. As arresting officer, Hutch's testimony was crucial and would probably put the man in prison for a very long time.

"I'll call at noon." Hutch tightened the tie he'd borrowed from his partner. Luckily, he'd picked up the suit on Saturday and left it at Starsky's with all the commotion of the weekend but he didn't have any of the other clothing necessary with a suit. Starsky had been able to provide a plain white shirt to go under the tan jacket, but Hutch would have picked a different tie if he'd been at his own home. The yellow and tan flowered affair was much more flamboyant than his usual style, but it was the only one Starsky owned that went with the suit.

"Gettaoutta here, Mom." Starsky flipped a hand at him, "And stop fussing. I can watch game shows all morning without you, but we will be going to the precinct after you get back. I just don't wanna hang around the Hangin' Judge's court waitin' for you."

"Face it, Judge Hardy has a soft spot for you." Hutch teased. "Every time he sees you he threatens to throw you in jail for contempt."

"Yah, all for some lousy slip of the tongue." Starsky handed him a cup of coffee, "It honestly wasn't what I meant to call him."

"I think he knows what you meant to call him." Hutch laughed, sipping the steaming brew. "Can you get me an apple or banana for breakfast?" When Starsky had disappeared back into the kitchen, Hutch slipped a hand into the pocket of Starsky's leather jacket hanging on a hook near the front door. He extracted the keys to the Torino, hiding them in his own pocket just as Starsky returned bearing fruit.

After Hutch left, Starsky gave him a good ten minutes head start before throwing on some clothes and grabbing his jacket. Halfway down the front stairs he realized his keys were missing and entertained himself with heaping curses on the blond head of his partner. It would be nothing at all for him to hot wire the Torino, but he didn't want to ruin it in such a way, so he climbed back upstairs much more slowly. Hutch knew him way too well, and had anticipated his most logical move. How could he continue to investigate the case with such a well meaning partner impeding his progress?

Starsky knew that Hutch had called in the leads they'd gotten from Montoya the night before and Washington was working hard from his end. But Starsky still felt a personal stake in this case and needed to be involved, if for nothing more than to get back his battered self worth. It felt very stupid to be mugged and beaten on a public street when he was a police officer.

Downing two more aspirin, Starsky put in a call to the most logical source of information, Huggy Bear.

"The Bear does not take calls at this ungodly hour, leave a message and get back to me." His voice muttered drowsily.

"Shouldn't you say 'I'll get back to you'?" Starsky laughed, knowing he wasn't speaking to an answering machine.

"Starsky, you know better'n to wake me up so early in the A.M." Huggy groused, "But I'm glad to hear from you, m'man. How're you doing?"

"Better than Hutch thinks." Starsky lied easily. He still felt like crap, but while working on a case was able to ignore the aches and pains in the pursuit of the criminals."As usual, he thinks I should take it easy for a coupla days."

"And so you should, my friend, but you don't." Huggy was now completely awake and knew what was coming next. "And you shouldn't be takin' advice from Miguel, Starsk. You know that man's brain isn't firin' on all cylinders. Why you go over to Olivera Street to buy somethin' like that 'stead of comin' to the Bear?"

"I didn't need anymore pet rocks." Starsky deadpanned. "Hutch stole my keys so I'm stuck here til he gets back, but I need some information."

"Well, I'm way ahead of you there, I was gonna call, just a little later in the day, if you catch my drift."

"Huggy, all the beauty sleep in the world won't change your ugly mug." Starsky snarked.

"I am sorely offended. What makes you think I'll impart my pearls of wisdom to you now?"

"Cause I am the injured party in all of this. I got beat up and dumped in an alley."

"Yah, man The Blond One was really freakin' lookin' for you that night. He called here but wouldn't tell me what's wrong, but I could hear in his voice he was scared."

"I was just plain stupid." Starsky growled, "And now it turns out that I bought a statue used to smuggle drugs."

"THAT'S what I was gonna call you about." Huggy got back on the main track of the conversation. "Some guy came nosin' around The Pits on Sunday night askin' about you."

"About Hutch an' me...?" Starsky corrected.

"Nah, 'bout some curly haired dude who got beat up on Saturday night. Now, I don't know this guy an' I was involved in an investigation of my own with a little chocolate lovely, but my cousin Timone was hangin' at the bar tryin' to chat up Angie..."

Starsky snorted with laughter at this mental picture. He knew Timone and the man had been attempting to make a date with Angie for over a year. "So?" he prompted.

"Well, Timone gets this scared look on his face and hightails it outta there." Huggy answered, "So, later on I looked around and he'd only gone to the next bar over, the traitor, but he says he recognized this Mexican and he ain't the kind of people he likes to associate with any longer per his parole officer's instructions, know what I mean?"  
"He recognized Valdez or Ramirez?" Starsky said tightly, the ache in his chest from his broken ribs intensifying with his increased respiration.

"Don't know which one it was?" Huggy asked. Starsky gave a brief description of each man, to which Huggy replied, "Valdez, sounds like. How come you know their names?"

"Lucky for us Hutch got a good look at them, cause I wasn't much help in that department." Starsky chewed on his lower lip for a moment, sorting facts in his head. The drug dealer appeared to be looking for him and not Montoya, the question is why? "Did he say why he wanted to find me?"

"No, but I never talked to him. Angie says she stalled, but knew he was talkin' about you. Hutch had called us when you were in the hospital to tell me what happened and how you looked, and this little short dude described a big scrape down the side of your face."

"Damn. What time was this?"

"Around closing time. Two thirty in the A.M. maybe?"

"Did he know my name?"

"Sorry, Starsk, I didn't talk to him, but Angie didn't say so."

"Cause they may not have known I was a cop before but I think they know now." Starsky said grimly.

++++++++++++++++++++

"Bicho, man, you're late!" Tito complained as the shorter man slammed through the door of the warehouse at ten fortyfive in the morning, "Where you been?"

"Had a late night, lemme tell..."

"We got shipments to get out and with Montoya out of commission, we'll have to scramble to get more statues to the other distributors."

"Tito! That little shit I slammed against the wall was a cop!" Valdez growled, ignoring Ramirez's explanation, "I shoulda stomped on him 'til his head split open."

"Where'd you hear that?" Tito focused his full attention on his partner in crime, who was prowling the long dark warehouse like a caged animal ready to attack.

"Jilly. So I did a little late night snoopin' on the hospital's computers. Their security is shit, nobody in medical records after midnight."

"No wonder Montoya's place was raided. Man, we are fried." Ramirez licked suddenly dry lips, staring at the unpacked statues littering the table, Nearly every one cached half a kilo or more of heroin. If he got caught with this much uncut product in one place they'd put him away for the rest of his natural born life. And that was not going to happen. "Get his address?"

"Sure, my friggin' former boss didn't know I could log onto those computers-huh." Bicho boasted to himself, running his fingers along an imaginary keyboard, "Took like no time at all to find out everything about that cop. I was gonna go and finished beatin' the crap outta him, but I fell asleep." He neglected to say the reason for the unexpected nap was the excessive amount of tequila he'd consumed for most of the night. After leaving Jilly's and going back to the hospital, he'd gone bar hopping in hopes of finding the cop, or anyone else he could lay his fist into. He'd been more than surprised to wake up on the back steps of a dive down on Bleaker and twentyninth, cold and stiff in the morning air. Luckily, hangovers never affected him and after a shower and change of clothes at his apartment, he was ready to go cop hunting.

"You fell asleep?" Tito repeated incredulously. "You shoulda called me last night."

"I can handle it myself, was prowling bars last night, found out he hangs out at the Pits. Knows the owner." Valdez grinned with nasty pleasure. He bounced on the balls of his feet, smacking his fist into the callused palm of his left hand, imagining the blood fest. "Gonna keep my eye on that cop-Starsky. He's going down for bringing the heat on us."

"Bicho." Tito laid a calming hand on his friend's arm, stilling Bicho's excited jigging. "You all ready got your mark on him, I think we need to go about this in a different direction."

"Hey!" Bicho jerked away, "What? I say that cop needs another round with Bicho."

"Yah, can't make it look like it came from us-keep ourselves in the clear." Ramirez frowned. "Get the customer list." He pointed down at the end of the table where partially packed box lay open, excelsior sprouting like straw hair around the bald head of a malevolent black and gold figure whose grinning mouth sported gold teeth.

"Get your own list." Bicho snarled, resuming his animal pacing.

"Bicho, you're going to like this. I promise. What's his name again?"

"Starsky."

"FIRST name, _bandejo._ "

"David Starsky." This time Valdez reached over, ignoring a kilo bag of brown powder laying within reach and plucked the requested paper off the table, handing it back to Ramirez.

"David Starsky just became one our of latest customers." Tito inserted the sheet into his old Royal typewriter with the sticky keys. It was the same typewriter he'd typed out all the lists for every week which he sent on to his sellers. Fingers flicking over the keys, he added the twelve extra letters at the bottom of the list of names to seal Starsky's fate. "Now, you got that address? It's time for some B and E."

++++++++++++

Court actually ended up taking much longer than Hutch anticipated, due to a couple of pugnacious and verbose lawyers, so it was closer to two in the afternoon before he was finished with his testimony and dismissed. The trial's result had always been a foregone conclusion and Hutch didn't need to hang around in the hard wooden courtroom chairs to know that DeMarquis Johnson was going to be spending some quality time in one of California's finer lock up facilities.

After picking up a very late sandwich for lunch at Real Food for All, he swung by Starsky's place to pick him up, knowing very well his hyperkinetic partner would not be content with cooling his heels at home all day.

"You stole my car keys." Starsky accused the minute the blond had walked in the door.

"How long did it take you to notice?" Hutch's smile showed his teeth. He was glad his little scheme had worked and Starsky was still parked at home.

"About five minutes. That was dirty pool, Hutch."

"Not my fault you don't have an extra set of keys." Hutch shrugged, wolfing down his bean sprout and cheese sandwich.

"I gave you my extra set after the others went into the drink off the Santa Monica Pier." Starsky pointed out referring to a case when he'd had to dive into the ocean to catch his perp. He'd made the arrest but lost his car keys. Starsky eyed Hutch's sandwich with distaste. "How you can eat that stuff...now, gimme back my keys and we can get going."

"I am still eating." Hutch slowed down his chewing, stalling, really not willing to have Starsky back at work one day after he'd come out of the hospital. Yesterday had been bad enough, and Starsky had shown the effects by sleeping the whole evening and night, from seven p.m. on. "Court was a ponderous waste of time, in my opinion, since with the evidence they could have sent Johnson to jail without even a hearing, but that's our justice system. How was your morning?"  
"Talked on the phone a lot."

"Don't tell me you pestered Brick and Lou."

"I don't pester. I did learn something from Huggy that I felt was important to pass along." Starsky picked up stray bean sprouts that had fallen out of the sandwich onto the couch and meticulously placed them on Hutch's napkin.

"Okay, I'll bite." Hutch did so, finishing his sandwich. "What?"

Starsky repeated Huggy's tale of a short, muscular Mexican coming into the Pits to question Angie, and his contention that Valdez now knew he was a detective.

"Damn." Hutch swore, fear building inside him. This was not good news at all.

"So, the faster we get out on the streets and find those turkeys, the better. Give me my keys."

"I'm still driving." Hutch insisted.

"Swellings gone down, I can see just fine." Starsky held out his hand, wiggling his fingers.

"You don't look just fine to me." Hutch held onto the keys, but opened the front door, waiting until Starsky had grabbed his jacket and shoulder holster. "Too bad this isn't Halloween, you could scare the pants off some little kid trick or treaters answering the door looking like that." Starsky's face was taking on a multitude of hues, giving him a gruesome coloring, but the blackened eye was much less puffy now, which just provided a much better view of his bloodshot sclera.

"It's not that bad." Starsky made a sidewise swipe at the keys, but his depth perception was still off and he missed by inches. The sudden movement also brought back a few aches and pangs from his ribcage and he reluctantly gave in to being a passenger in his own car. With hindsight, he realized maybe he should be wearing the velco brace, but it was too late now.

Laughing, Hutch jingled the car keys, loping down the front steps to the Torino. "You should try looking from this side." He kidded.

They amiably argued different approaches to solving the case while driving in and had come to somewhat of a consensus by the time they'd reached the squadroom.

"Oh, look the loafers came in to see what us po'workin' folk be doing." Washington commented, hunched over his typewriter, finishing a report on their progress so far.

"Can't imagine how they turn in their timecards with a straight face." Anderson agreed, pouring a cup of coffee. Starsky was just in time to slip it out of his fingers before he could take a drink. Grinning, Starsky sipped his stolen coffee, then passed it along to Hutch.

"Thanks, Anderson." Hutch took a drink, then gave the cup back to the disgruntled detective who just sighed, poured out the communal coffee, and got himself another cup.

"Brick, you look like a drug dealer," Starsky announced, running a hand over the black man's smooth scalp.

"Do Ah take that as a compl'ment or a diss, Little Davey?" Washington stood so he could glower down at the shorter man. "You don't wanna know what you look lihke."

Starsky returned the glower with a comical wiggle of his eyebrows, throwing a companionable arm around his friend's massive shoulders, " I'm sure you'll agree what this case needs is an undercover drug deal. Hutch an' me would be right down there on the front lines in a flash, but Valdez and Ramirez recognize us. It's either you or Myers."

"Hey, I could do it." Sam Wong offered. He was rarely called on to do the drug dealer undercovers. Now waiters, pizza delivery and cab drivers he'd done to death. He was more than ready to sink his teeth into a real meaty role.

"You want me to be a dealer?" Washington asked in a deadly voice. "How come it's always the black man?"

"Hey, Brick, Starsky and me took our turn two weeks ago," Hutch soothed. "Besides, like he said, they'd recognize us. You'll blend."

"In a Mex neighborhood?"

"If Brick doesn't want to do it...?" Stu Myers shrugged, "I could..." With his long slender build and narrow face, Stu more often got to play the junkie roles.

"You're already backin' up the pussy posse this week." Anderson reminded, flipping a finger under the purple satin lapels of the pimp jacket Myers had slung over the back of his chair. A huge brimmed purple hat took up half the desk, sitting atop arrest reports.

"Ah'll do it." Washington groaned, knowing he was being conned by a room full of detectives.

"Always thought you looked like a drug dealer," Anderson teased to his partner.

"There's that team spirit that made you a great football star." Starsky crowed, giving him a punch on the biceps.

"This ain't football, Little Davey," Washington said soberly. "We already know what these guys do for fun, Ah don' exactly relish getting' on their bad side, y'know?"

"Starsky had a good idea to have Huggy's cousin Timone get you into their circle." Hutch explained the plan they'd worked out in the car. "It'll take a few days to get into place, but we could have a bust as early as this weekend if we're lucky, otherwise this could run into a really long term undercover."

"Ah'm just lihkin' this more an' more." Washington curled his lip, showing teeth. Anyone else might have been frightened, it was an expression which had put the fear of God into more than one hardened criminal in the interrogation room, but Starsky just beamed back, although his bruised facial muscles protested the strain. "We need to talk to the Captain." Washington warned.

"Just wanted to get our ducks in a row before we presented the case to him." Starsky waved away any imaginary obstacles in their path. "We'll bust those punks, and get a ring of drug dealers off the streets. Just what the mayor's always talkin' about. The war on drugs...You could even get a commendation outta this."

"Don't have to drizzle honey on top, boy." Washington drawled, his arms crossed over his heavily muscled chest, "Ah already agreed to it. You just keep your beat up self outta harm's way and watch how a real detective does it."

"Could learn a lot from him, Starsk." Hutch smirked, "Brick's a real pro."

"And what am I, chopped liver?"  
"With onions on top."

"I guess I know when I'm not wanted around here." Starsky grumped. He raised a hand turn the knob on Captain Dobey's office door when the portal opened and the burly man came barreling through, propelling Starsky into the filing cabinet.

"Starsky!" Dobey bellowed. "Knock if you're coming in, I could have run into you!"

"You did and I was just about to." Starsky tried to hide his discomfort with a bewildered grin, but the abrupt connection with the metal filing cabinet had just about whooshed the air right out of his lungs and there were sparklers going off behind his retina. He took short little panting breaths, leaning awkwardly against the wall to wait out the renewed stabs of pain through his ribs, knowing if he showed how much that had hurt he'd be sent home in a second.

"What's everyone sitting around for? Don't any of you have anything to do?" Dobey asked brusquely.

"We been mullin' over some ideas on how to bring down Ramirez and Valdez." Washington spoke up, "With me goin' under as a dealer wantin' to buy from them."

"Good solid work." Dobey nodded, "I like when my men take initiative. Tell me more."

"It was my idea." Starsky muttered. Hutch just quietly slipped a chair under his partner's butt and pushed him gently into it. He wasn't blind and he could easily see what Starsky was trying to hide.

The rest of the afternoon was spent working out the specifics of the undercover and doling out who would do which jobs. As usual, it was later than expected before everything was ironed out and the planning committee broke up to go home. It was decided that although both Starsky and Hutch knew Timone, it might be best if they stayed away from him and let Washington and Anderson do most of the front man work to reduce the chance of Ramirez or Valdez seeing them. None of the detectives suspected that at the same time they were plotting to take down the two drug dealers, the dealers were planning to turn the rug around on them.

Hutch drove home and was tired enough to take the direction to his own Venice apartment without really thinking about it until they were within a block of his home. He didn't have the energy to turn around and drive Starsky back to his house, so he parked the Torino in front of his place, getting out.

"You got any actual food in your refrigerator?" Starsky questioned, not moving to get out of the car. There was no point in even thinking of going back to his place at this point, he'd bunk down at Hutch's as he'd done hundreds of times. He could usually even find an item or two of his own clothes amongst Hutch's things. At least this way Hutch could sleep at his own place for the first time in three days.

"Black strap molasses, wheat germ, and a brand new organic kefir." Hutch answered enthusiastically, fully aware that was not what his partner had in mind. He'd only recently really started to get back into the healthier diet he'd maintained years before. It was hard to manage on a cop's schedule, but as he got older he could tell how much better he felt without so much fat and sugar. How Starsky managed to continue on in his usual ways daily mystified Hutch. "Are you getting out anytime soon?"

"REAL food, Hutch!" Starsky groaned with passion, stretching his legs before climbing out. Since his shooting, it took so much longer to recuperate from injuries. He was sure that in his younger days, he could have laughed this beating off without a thought. Now, not only did the new bruises hurt, but his old aches and pains from various bullet wounds and surgeries plagued him. Maybe Hutch's attempts to get him to eat a healthier diet had some merit. Not that he'd ever let Hutch know he was beginning to agree with him. That would result in no end of teasing.

"There might be a couple of lamb chops in there waiting for a certain person." Hutch unlocked the door, turning his back so he didn't have to watch Starsky moving as stiffly as an old man. Hutch's first inclination was to hover helpfully, but he knew better than to step on his best friend's pride until it was absolutely necessary.

Lamb chops and curried rice assuaged Starsky's soul and the two spent quiet evening playing card games. Starsky liked to invent new rules to confound Hutch and then double the confusion by chattering ceaselessly while Hutch was trying to bet. This resulted in a spirited game of gin rummy. They played until both had won and lost the same twenty bucks back and forth several times.

Starsky took a long shower, letting the hot water soak the aches out of his muscles and when he turned off the water he could hear Hutch playing softly on his guitar out in the front room. Listening for a moment he recognized the notes to 'Let it Be' by the Beatles and smiled. Hutch making some musical point?

Starsky dropped his damp towel to the floor, taking a look at himself in the mirror. He did look like a Halloween boogy man. The bruising was at it's most fearful, with dark scabs forming along the worst of the scrapes. The swelling under his eye was still enough to distort the line of his cheekbone and jaw giving his face a lumpy appearance. Then there was his chest. It wasn't enough that two years after the shooting the jagged scars still peeked out from under the curly hair on his chest, now he was scalloped black and blue from armpit to hip bone on the right side. Just leaning over to grab a t-shirt off the back of the toilet caused him to grit his teeth with the pain, but he wasn't about to let that keep him off the case. Damn Valdez and Ramirez for turning a pleasant afternoon into a painful memory.

It didn't take much persuasion from Hutch to get Starsky to take the bed. Even at his most stubborn Starsky knew when he needed to capitulate and get some rest. He fell asleep easily, but Hutch didn't. The thought that he could have prevented the beating kept repeating in his head until he wanted to storm out into the night to find Bicho Valdez and shove him into a brick wall. That would certainly not be a viable solution, so he continued strumming the guitar strings, his eyes on Starsky asleep in the bed.

God, please keep him safe, because he sure doesn't seem to know how to do it by himself.

Hutch smiled ruefully to himself, bending over the instrument to adjust the frets before he played 'Bad, Bad Leroy Brown'. He didn't sing every verse but found his voice when he got to the section where Leroy gets into a fight and emerged looking like he was a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone. It was sort of a thank you to the gods that this hadn't happened to Starsky.

+++++++++++++++++++

Myers had provided the breakfast assortment, a pink box laden with every calorie heavy, artery clogging donut Winchells had to offer. Starsky was in heaven, taking a careful inventory of every pastry before selecting a cake donut covered with chocolate glaze and merry varicolored sprinkles. He hovered over a second old-fashioned glazed, but caught Hutch's disapproving look out of the corner of his eye and settled for just the one.

"Good move." Hutch mouthed, taking a sip of coffee to hide his smirk. He'd finished the grapes and banana he'd brought from home and now perused one of the reams of paper the case had already generated, hoping to glean something new from the information.

"Starsky." Dobey's voice was uncharacteristcally sober and quiet, startling to the entire room of detectives. "Can I see you in my office? Simonetti wants to talk to you."

Rising to follow, Hutch stopped when the Captain shook his head in his direction. "Only Starsky."

"What's this about, Cap?" Starsky asked, not liking the way the donut in his stomach was suddenly boiling in acid.

"Where my partner goes, I go." Hutch added.

"Not now, Hutchinson." Dobey said formally.

"I haven't worked on anything IA would be involved in..." Starsky looked over at Hutch for support, his eyes connecting with his partner's for a moment, sending a silent 'I'll be okay' as he followed his superior into the private office.

"Detective Sergeant Starsky." Simonetti, the main investigator from Internal Affairs, was sitting behind Dobey's desk, flipping through a thin file of papers, his face contorted into a grimace of disapproval as if he'd just smelled something revolting but couldn't get away from the odor. The other half of the IA team stood behind, watching Starsky and Dobey come in with an expression of resignment.

"Simonetti." Starsky replied, trying to keep his dislike for the man at a low simmer. He objected to the way IA could blunder into a case, picking apart an officer's work and nosing their way into places that didn't concern them. It was true that here had been a few isolated cases when some policeman had run afoul of the law, accepting bribes or actually committing some crime, but for the most part Starsky often found that Simonetti and his ilk just hindered honest cops' investigations, tying their hands so they couldn't even prove a criminal was guilty by reasonable means.

"Please sit down."

"I'd prefer to stand." Starsky glanced over at Dobey, but the captain's face was shuttered. The black man hands, though, told a different story. He fiddled with the buttons on his vest as if he couldn't figure out whether to look official in suit coat and vest or slightly relaxed with shirtsleeves rolled up. He finally dropped his hands to his sides, not looking at any of the men who had taken over his office.

"Sergeant Starsky, it has come to our attention that you bought a figure known to contain heroin."

"Yah, but I didn't know it contained heroin until long after it was stolen from me." Starsky explained, attempting to defuse his rapidly escalating temper and trying to ignore the deepening fear that this interview was going to end badly.

"You went to a shop on Olivera Street owned by a Guillermo Montoya and purchased a black and gold ceramic head, paying seventy dollars for it, correct?" Simmonetti's partner Dryden asked in accusatory tones.

"Yes, but I had no reason to think that..."

"Do you deny that you obtained the address of the shop from a drug addict? " Dryden interrupted swiftly. Starsky recognized the technique, one to keep a suspect off kilter and he resented being viewed as a suspect right from the get go. "That later investigation of the curio shop revealed traces of heroin everywhere in the back room?"

"I didn't see any heroin. It was dark back there."

"You did go into the back of the shop uninvited, but never noticed the heroin lying around in plain sight?" Dryden shot back in disbelief.

His emotions warring between themselves, Starsky pushed down the encroaching fear, going for aggression instead. "Just what are you implying?" He asked vehemently. "I didn't know that place sold drugs when I went there. If you think I'm dirty, just come right out and say it."

"We have more than enough evidence to imply exactly that." Simmonetti indicated the papers he'd been looking through.

"Coincidental." Starsky said belligerently, leaning over the desk to read the file upside down. His hands were balled in fists, and he would have punched one of those two smug IA goons, but Dobey spoke his name softly in a disciplinary tone and he forced himself to relax. There couldn't be any real proof that he'd willingly bought drugs!

"Not entirely." Simmonetti had located a typewritten list and held it up. On close examination Starsky could read the name of Montoya's shop and a series of names with red check marks after each. The name David Starsky was at the bottom. There was no denying it was typed on the same machine as all the rest. The small case 'a' printed lighter than the other letters and was slightly askew.

His breath froze in his lungs, a roar vibrating in his ears making it hard to hear the words out of Simmonetti's mouth but Starsky tried to remain if not calm, then rational. "Where did you get that? We talked to Montoya and he said Valdez and Ramirez took the customer list with them and he hadn't received another."

"It was provided by a reliable informant. You tried to get to Montoya first to get rid of the list before we saw it."

"My name was not on this list! I was not one of his customers!" Starsky shouted, Dobey's restraining hand on his arm only stopping him from launching himself over the desk at Simmonetti. "Where did you get that?" He repeated, knowing he was being set up, but by whom and why? "I've been working with Washington, Anderson and Hutch from the beginning. Hell, we broke this case!"

"To throw suspicion away from yourself." Dryden said impassively, exchanging a glance with his partner.

"Why would I do that? I have nothing to hide!" Starsky wanted to punch something, vent his frustrated anger against a solid object, preferably Simmonetti's face.

"You may change your tune, Detective. We have a team going out to your house right now, to search for drugs."

"You what?!!"

Outside, in the main squadroom, all work had stopped as Hutch's apprehensions mounted. Raised voices could be heard coming from Dobey's office, only adding fuel to his nerves. Washington watched silently as Hutch paced restlessly, his face pale and determined. When Starsky's outburst came clearly through the wall, Hutch couldn't stand it any longer, launching himself through the connecting door like an avenging angel.

Hutch arrived in time to see Dobey and Dryden physically restraining a furious Starsky and Simmonetti rubbing a reddening bruise on the side of his face. It was not the first time Starsky had ever slugged the IA investigator, but this time Simmonetti intended to make an example out of him.

"Detective Hutchinson, this is a private meeting."

"The hell it is," Hutch swore, eyes only on Starsky, who looked wildly out of control, but underneath Hutch could sense terror. "What the hell is going on?"

"These couple of shits are accusing me of buying drugs!" Starsky shook off Dryden's hold with a curse, rubbing his now seriously painful ribs with his left hand.

"I will not have swearing in my office." Dobey attempted to gain some control over the situation. "IA has some charges that are still in the investigatory phases making it look like Starsky did..."

"That's bull." Hutch bit off the rest of the word for his Captain's sake, wheeling around to face Simmonetti. "What kind of proof do you have?"

"They sent a team out to my house to search." Starsky spat, but he was trembling with the overload of adrenaline and onslaught of pain after his attack on Simmonetti. "Do you even have a warrant?"

"Contrary to some policework around here." Dryden said nastily, "IA always conducts our investigations to the letter of the law."

"He was beat up after buying a stupid clay figure." Hutch argued fully aware of how unsteady Starsky was. To the others Starsky appeared on the verge of murderous rage, but Hutch could see how scared and in pain he was. "There were no obvious signs that that shop was involved in the drug trade. It was a coincidence."

"Starsky obtained the address from a Miguel Morales, did he not?"  
"Yes, you know I did." Starsky took two threatening steps closer to the desk again, thrusting his face up close to Simmonetti's.

"Starsk." Hutch's voice did the trick, Starsky backed down and accepted the chair Dobey pushed over for him, hunching down to control his breathing. His ribs were on fire and erratic panting wasn't helping matters.

"Then obviously the decision to go into that shop was not coincidental."

"He would never buy drugs." Hutch's throat was tight with worry for his partner. The facts were fairly damning. "Ramirez and Valdez followed us after we left the bar, beat him up and stole the figure."

"It's obvious that you argued with you drug suppliers." Simmonetti looked over at Starsky with the fire of certainty in his eyes, "And when they had you beaten up, you set then up for a fall."

"You're nuts!" Starsky exploded. He ejected himself from the chair at his accuser but Hutch intercepted the attack, pulling Starsky into a tight embrace away from the taller man. Starsky had already cocked his left fist for another roundhouse and couldn't stop his momentum. He let his arm go, connecting against the plaster wall of the office, knocking a picture of Dobey's graduation from the academy off its nail. "Fuck." He swore, but Hutch had backed him up against the wall, corralling him with his body and arms so he blocked out Starsky's view of the others.

"You have to calm down." Hutch hissed, forcing Starsky to look up at him. "This isn't helping no matter how much you want to hit him. We have to prove them wrong, not egg them on."

"It's a frame." Starsky managed to get his voice under control, but his knuckles and hand were throbbing. "A set up." There was no way he was going to let any of the men in the room see him break down and cry. He stared into Hutch's eyes, reading the reassurance and acceptance there. It should have helped, but it wasn't just his actual physical position that made him feel backed into a corner.

"I know that and I think Dobey knows that," Hutch said calmly. "Now we have to prove it."

"Captain Dobey, I want that man on suspension, and if I had my way, he'd be in jail." Simmonetti declared with vengeance. "He's a loose cannon."

"Listen, Lieutenant," Hutch swung around to face the IA investigator, keeping one hand on Starsky's shoulder, "I realize you and Starsky have never seen eye to eye, but you cannot seriously think he would jeopardize his career with this department by opening buying drugs."

"Hutchinson, you're his partner, it's expected that you would cover for him." Dryden put in, a sneer twisting his lips.

"Hey, you asshole!" Starsky started forward, but was stopped by Hutch's hand.

"If." Hutch held up a ramrod straight finger, his voice deadly, "If I believed Starsky was involved in drugs I would arrest him myself and then get him the help needed. However, this whole investigation you're pursuing is a house of cards. It's a set up and if you can't see tha..."

The phone ringing cut off any further words as Dobey picked up the receiver and answered formally. He passed the handset over to Simmonetti without a word, but his brown eyes were unexpectedly sad and Starsky felt real fear that he was in deep trouble.

"Good work, get all the evidence over to the lab and have it analyzed." Simmonetti replied to the person on the other end of the line, "I'll be talking to you shortly." He hung up with a satisfied smile. "Sergeant Starsky, my team has found half a kilo of Mexican brown heroin in your apartment. The same heroin found in Montoya's shop. How do you explain yourself?"

"It's a crock of shit." Starsky slid his throbbing hand up under his right armpit, accidentally bumping his holster, which didn't make his hand feel any better. The reminder of the weapon strapped to his shoulder didn't make him feel much better either, since he could predict that the next words out of Simmonetti's mouth would be a real suspension, where he would have to turn in his badge and gun. "I have never bought drugs, I was not in my apartment last night, so someone must have broken in and planted that horse there."

"Our team said the door appeared undamaged and the house looked unremarkable."

"Thanks a lot. How would they know how my fuckin' house looked before they arrived?" Starsky yelled, unable to modulate his temper at this point. "They've never been there before, but I bet they left a hell of a mess afterwards!"

"Detective." Dobey warned, truly concerned for the welfare of an officer he considered a close friend.

"How did you obtain the information that lead you to search Starsky's house?" Hutch asked carefully. He had to keep his anger under control in order to help his partner who was being railroaded down a crooked track. How to prove it though?

"Detective Hutchinson, you've conducted hundreds of investigations in your career here, surely you know we cannot reveal our sources with the suspect in the room. For that matter, our informants are being kept confidential for their own protection."

"What about my partner's protection? Nobody around here seems to be looking out for him." Hutch growled, He was worried about Starsky. His color was off and he still seemed out of breath from the tussle several minutes earlier.

"Until this investigation is concluded, Sergeant David Starsky is on suspension awaiting either formal charges of drug trafficking or a hopefully full reinstatement to his position on the detective squad."

"Terrific." Fumbling with the strap because of his injured hand and scraped fingers, Starsky yanked his holster off so hard he bent the buckle. He'd been expecting this, but it didn't make the actual words any less difficult to hear. Dropping his Barretta onto Dobey's desk, he tossed his badge on top of it. "Simmonetti, I hope you rot in hell."

"Insubordination can be added to the growing list of charges." Dryden added for effect.

"Captain, we'll keep you apprised of our investigation." Simmonetti stood in preparation to leave. "You should probably lock up his weapon, wouldn't want it to suddenly go missing."

"I know how to handle my own men." Dobey said glacially, looking over at Starsky who was hunched down in his chair again, Hutch at his side. "I have faith in my detective, Lieutenant, that this is all a vicious slander on his reputation and will be resolved quickly, completely vindicating him."

"The facts will speak for themselves." Simmonetti said by way of parting, preceding Dryden out the door.

"Thanks, Captain." Starsky muttered, "But I don't want you to get tarred with the same brush."

"I'm already black." The large man permitted himself a tiny joke, "I meant what I said, Starsky, but you need to be straight with me. Is there anything I ought to know?"

"No!" Starsky bolted up, only to come up short from the now constant pain in his side. He sat down more cautiously, taking careful shallow breaths.

"Are you all right?" Hutch asked anxiously.

"Got a stitch." Starsky was only half lying, breathing had become a necessary pain in the side. "Captain, I just wanted to buy some Mexican art. Miquel Morales tol' me his brother works on Olivera Street and had recommended that shop. I had no prior knowledge of any drug activity, nothing. I bought Igor..."

"Igor?" Dobey raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"He named it." Hutch wished this were all as funny as the name, "After he bought the damn thing, we went to a nearby bar. Ramirez and Valdez were there..."

"But we didn't know them, then." Starsky added, glad for now to let Hutch do the talking.

"And we went back to our separate cars after that." Hutch took up the narrative again, "They followed us, cause I bumped into one of them, but I went into a store and Starsky went on down the street."

"Where they jumped me and took Igor." Starsky said mournfully, not going into the rest, since Dobey already knew.

"So you've never encountered these two before, in ANY other case?" Dobey queried.

"Nope."

"Never." Hutch shook his head, "Captain, I beginning to think that those two are setting him up."

"Why?"

"Cause we accidentally broke open their lucrative scheme." Starsky glanced over at the water cooler with a pitiful expression for Hutch. "Kin I have a cup a'water?"

"Sure." Hutch hurried to fulfill the request, sloshing water on his hand in his haste to fill the paper cup. "Captain, Starsky needs to be at home."

"My sentiments exactly." Dobey shook a thick forefinger at the curly haired detective who ignored him to drink from the cup Hutch held out, swallowing two aspirin with the water. "You shouldn't have been here in the first place, and you shouldn't have gone out to interrogate Montoya in your condition." His voice raised to usual Dobey levels by the end of the sentence.

"But Cap...!" Starsky protested.

"You should have been on medical leave all along." Dobey gathered up Starsky's gun and badge, slipping them into his bottom drawer. "They may call it a suspension, but to me it's STILL medical leave and I want a note from your doctor before you come back here again, is that clear?"

"Perfectly." Hutch agreed. "Washington and Anderson are still on the case, right?"

"Unless they can tell me why not!" Dobey roared, "Go home, Starsky, now, you look like hell."

"Keep me in the loop." Starsky said, the vulnerable look on his face painful to see.

"Out, we have a drug bust to plan here." Dobey brusquely waved them out of his sight. He was determined to get Starsky reinstated as soon as humanly possible, but the intricacies of setting up the sting to get Ramirez and Valdez could prove daunting. There had to be no slip-ups or possibilities that the two could prove that they were coerced. It had to be an airtight bust to save Starsky's neck.

"Did I just hear you use the word lucrative back there?" Hutch asked, trying to lighten the mood a notch. He unlocked the doors to the Torino, once again settling into the driver's seat.

"Been building my vocabulary." Starsky laughed shortly, glad of any amount of humor to loosen the knot in his belly. "Got a day to day calendar. That was last Friday's word."

"What's today's?" Hutch smiled fondly at his battered friend.

"I lost track after Friday, but it's probably catastrophe." Starsky slumped into the seat, tucking his aching hand back under the edge of his jacket.

"Aw, Starsk..." Hutch gulped back the lump that settled in his throat, threatening to choke him. "What'd you do to your hand?" He asked blandly.

"Nothin'."

"Nothing? I saw how hard you hit the wall, Dobey's gonna have to get the plasterer to come in and repair it." Hutch pulled to a stop at a red light. "Lemme see."

Starsky silently held out his left hand, so that Hutch could see that the first two knuckles were reddened, swelling puffing the whole back of his hand.

"Damn, Starsky, we should go over to the hospital right now, that could be broken."

"I don't think so," Starsky moved his fingers with difficulty, wincing. "No hospitals, I gotta go see Dr. Mason tomorrow, anyway, for an after discharge appointment. He can look at it then."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Mom."

The ride back was silent, but when Hutch stopped the car in front of Starsky's apartment, neither rushed to get out of the car. "Guess I'll have to clean the place up." Starsky sighed, "Fuck."

"I should never have let you come with me to interrogate Montoya."

"LET me?" Starsky stressed the sarcasm, "Hutch, nothing's your fault. The whole thing stinks, but neither of us did anything wrong."

"You weren't supposed to be on duty, it just added fuel to Simmonetti's fire, makin' it look like we were sneaking around." Hutch grimaced, "Where did he get his information?"

"Coming up?" Starsky asked.

"Least I can do." Hutch followed up the stairs, both of them steeling themselves for the mess a police investigation leaves. Sure enough, the house was covered with fingerprint powder, the contents of drawers scattered and books dumped on the floor, Hutch was saddened to see the little Mexican figures he'd admired a few days before lying on the floor, the head of the wide-eyed bird cracked in half. The idol that had shared the shelf was missing.

"The heroin must have been hidden in the statue with the blue bands." Hutch said absently, picking up the broken bird. "They probably took it away for evidence."

Starsky had already begun sorting papers into piles and pushing them back into drawers. With deep concentration on his face he disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments, returning with a rag and cleaning fluid. He busily scrubbed at the black powder marring the top of the coffee table, still wearing his leather jacket.

"Starsky, relax, I can do that."

"I can't...can't relax. That fuckin' Simmonetti has had it in for the both of us since Vanessa died." His hand trembled as he flicked away the last of the mess on the table, tackling the shelves next.

Hutch remembered the nightmare after his ex-wife had been found dead in his apartment, shot with his own gun. It had only been Starsky's persistence and flaunting of the rules that had saved him from being put in jail for the murder. Luckily, that too had been a set up and the guilty party had been arrested. This case looked even more complex.

"We have to get some inside information. Who talked to him? Where is Ramirez' warehouse?" Starsky's speech was pressured and fast. His hands never ceased, straightening knick-knacks and rubbing away the offending powder covering every surface. "Maybe Huggy's heard something. Have you seen the phone? He promised he'd get back to me. Did Brick talk to Timone yet? "

"Starsky!" Hutch's sharp tone was enough to stop the other's hyper movements. Starsky froze, his breath almost wheezing as he leaned against the bookcase. "You're off the case now. I will talk to Brick and Huggy." He reached out a gentling hand, rubbing cautiously along Starsky's rock hard shoulder muscles, not sure how much pressure to apply. "Get some rest."

"Simmonetti's gonna nail me to the wall, Hutch."

"Good thing you have me around, then, isn't it?"

+++++++++++++++++++++++

The noon news broke the story that the local police were investigating one of their own on possible charges of drug trafficking. Tito Ramirez switched off the television with a satisfied smile.

It just took connections.

A few calls here, the right name dropped there and a cop was going down for the count. It hadn't hurt that his cousin's husband worked in the newsroom at ABC. And Angela's latest boyfriend was already on the cop's list of trustworthy informants. A little bug in Angela's ear was all it had taken to spread the rumors across to the highest levels of the cops.

Now, all he had to do was sit back and be patient. He'd gotten rid of the last of his most recent shipment. There were no financial problems and all the concerns buyers had voiced on the weekend were now silenced. Product was moving just as it had before and no one had lost out. Even the buyer who's wares had been temporarily sidelined when Starsky had bought the head off that hijo de puta Montoya was more than satisfied with the little extra Tito had thrown in at no cost.

There was another shipment coming in on Thursday. Until then all he had to do was sit back and watch the fireworks while Sergeant David Starsky got raked over the coals. Once he was convicted., Tito's problems were history.

All it took were connections.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Hutch finished cleaning up the reminders of IA's trample through the living room while Starsky slept in the bedroom. After watching Starsky's tightly controlled movements, knowing he was hiding the pain from his broken ribs, Hutch had insisted he take something stronger than aspirin. The Vicodin knocked him out for several hours, which was just fine with Hutch.

After he got the living room back into a semblance of order, Hutch made a pot of spaghetti sauce and scrounged up noodles and salad. For all his teasing about Starsky's eating habits, the man did keep vegetables in his house and the romaine lettuce was still crisp and green. Tossing the lettuce with a cobbled together Caesar dressing, he started the pasta boiling, planning to wake his partner when it was al dente.

The jangling of the phone got his attention, and he grabbed the receiver while wiping his hands on a dishrag. "Hutchinson," he answered, in case someone was calling for Starsky.

"Hutch, it's all over the news." Washington announced without preamble.

"Damn, are they naming names?"

"Not so far, just 'sources tell us a local cop is bein' invest'gated'."

"Thanks for giving us the heads up, Brick, how's the rest of the investigation going?"

"Ah got in with Timone 'bout an hour ago an' he's talkin' to people who know Ramirez."

"Great. The sooner we can get this squared away, the better. We should meet somewhere so we can all stay on the same page." Hutch moodily watched the pasta water boiling, the erupting bubbles a counterpoint to what the acid in his stomach was doing.

"Maybe Huggy's?"

"Ah dunno if it's a good idea to be seen together if Ah'm s'pposed to be goin' undercover as the bad ass drug dealer."

"You're right, not in the bar, but Huggy does have an upstairs room he lets us use sometimes."

"Sounds cozy." Washington said dryly. "How's Little Davey takin' it?"

"I think you can figure that one out for yourself. And the place was trashed when we got here. I really hate being on the wrong end of an investigation."

"Ah hear you, brother," Washington agreed, "Be there at seven? By that time Ah may have more for you."

"What'd Brick say?" Starsky stood in the doorway of his room, his hair still sleep tousled.

"Geeze, you scared a year off my life." Hutch caught his breath, he hadn't heard his partner's approach.

Rubbing grit out of his eyes, Starsky persisted, "I get the feeling you don't want to tell me. What'd he say?"

"Probably would be best if you didn't watch the news for a few days." Hutch turned away to stir the pasta so he didn't have to watch the play of emotions across Starsky's face.

"I'm the flavor of the week, is that it?"

"No names yet, but pretty much." He turned off the flame under the pot and drained the water off the spaghetti before mixing it with the marinara sauce. "We're gonna meet Brick at Huggy's later."

"So you made spaghetti to celebrate?" Starsky asked with strange inflection.

"We have to eat something." Hutch dished up the meal, handing a bowl of salad over to his friend. "This will all get resolved, buddy."

"They're gonna draw you in, too, you know." Starsky stared down at the lettuce as if he didn't know what to do with it. "I don't want you in trouble, too."

"Starsky, you didn't do anything wrong." Hutch took the bowl from him, set it on the table and pulled him into a rough hug. "Washington will put a sting on those two roaches and they'll sing your innocence, if I have to force it out of them."

"When did you ever hear a roach sing?" Starsky asked, his voice uneven, tears close to the surface, but he didn't let them fall.

"C'mon, I made this, eat it." Hutch urged, nudging him into a chair.

"Hutch, I will take all the blame if any shit falls on you, I swear." Starsky stabbed viciously at a lettuce leaf. "No way both of us are going down."

"Starsk, none of that is going to happen."

"You can tell the future now, Hutchinson?" He laughed harshly.

"I just know the truth. You're innocent of all this and there's no other explanation."

+++++++++++++++++++++

Walking through The Pits beside Hutch, Starsky felt like all eyes were on him. It took him a few minutes to realize that it probably had more to do with the bruises still covering his face than any knowledge of his imagined crimes. Huggy's sympathetic grimace reminded him that the bar owner hadn't seen him since the beating.

"Whoa, Starsky, I heard the reports, but in Technicolor, you're a fright sight."

"It's getting to be a broken record." Starsky growled, "Give me a beer." Hutch opened his mouth to protest but was shot down before he even said a word. "I'm not on duty, took the Vicodin hours ago. I can have a drink if I want to."

"Then make it two." Hutch shrugged, "Brick here yet, Hug?"

"Luxuriating in the penthouse as we speak." Huggy winked, "He came in the back way so nobody saw him."

"Good work." Hutch accepted a beer and followed his partner up the narrow staircase to the disreputable little second floor room where Huggy let his regulars sleep it off after a binge. Hutch shoved aside his own less than happy memories of a pain filled weekend in the room when Starsky had helped him kick an addiction to heroin. Those memories were why he was so certain there was no way on earth that Starsky would be trafficking in illegal drugs, least of all heroin. Starsky hated the substance as much, or more so, than he did. They both knew first hand the dire consequences involved in addiction.

"Hey." Huggy came half way up the stairs with a bowl of pretzels, "You didn't hear it from the Bear, but a little birdie came in a few hours ago talking about Tito Ramirez."

"What about?" Starsky asked sharply, knowing Huggy wouldn't reveal the source. He didn't even bother to ask.

"Mostly about his sister."

"Angela." Hutch supplied.

"That's her name." Huggy snapped his long fingers. "Now, I don't personally know the chick, or her boyfriend, but apparently he has the ear of IA."

"So a little bird tol' you." Starsky said dryly. "And what's Angela's boyfriend's name?"

"Reuben Flores."

"Reuben-the-flower?" Hutch translated. "We've had run ins with him before, remember, Starsk?"

"A regular ray o' sunshine is ol' Reuben." Starsky snarled, "Beat his last ol' lady up so bad she had brain damage."

"Hope that misfortune does not befall Angela." Huggy handed over the pretzels. "How did she look when you saw her?"  
"And you know that because...?" Hutch took a pretzel, wiping some of the salt off before eating it.

"Lotsa birdies fly in for a drink, Blondie." Huggy raised his eyebrows, a sardonic look on his angular face. "You know I hear things."

"She didn't look beat up, but those things can be hidden." Starsky sucked on a pretzel, but the salt still stung his cut lip. Getting beat up was a royal pain in the ass and he was more than tired of feeling in pain. His ribs still ached abysmally from the altercation that morning. Hopefully Angela wasn't hiding bruises. Just the thought that the pretty bar maid might ever have shared a similar fate to his own filled him with righteous anger. "IA's usin' such s scum for an informant?"

"They always did have the best judgement when picking their snitches." Hutch shook his head, "Thanks, Huggy."

"I woulda tol' my brother upstairs, but, he snuck up there so quick, I hardly had a chance."

The door at the top of the stairwell opened, revealing the big, bald head of Darryl Washington, "You guys gonna sit n' gossip on the stoop all night, or you gonna come on in and set a spell?"

"I'm all for settin'." Starsky held up the beer and pretzels, "You need anything else?"

"Ah'd go for some peanuts, if ya got some?" He addressed Huggy.

"Comin' on up, m'man, nothing but the best for the Brick." Huggy promised.

Starsky and Hutch continued up, filing into the room. Washington had set three mismatched chairs around a small table, which was spread with the papers from a police file.

"Forgot to drop this off when you left the building, Brick?" Starsky gave him a full force grin, "I knew I trained him right, Hutch."

"You din' train me nothing, Little Davey." Brick towered over his friend with a mock stern expression. His first assignment after earning his detective's badge was as a temporary partner with Starsky guarding a Rabbi while Hutch was undercover. "Ah picked up all Ah know from book larnin'."

"Huh," Starsky snorted, selecting a report at random to read, "That would be while you were in college as the Art History slash football major."

"The art world's just fulla crime, boy." Washington's basso profundo voice vibrated in his chest, but his teasing grin ruined the effect.

"Less bickering and more reading, you two." Hutch rolled his eyes. Starsky and Washington could continue on all night if he didn't stop them. The two were good friends although nothing could compare to the bond that Starsky and Hutch shared. That transcended boundaries, linking them in an almost spiritual way.

Getting down to business, Hutch related what Huggy had just told them and Washington told his two friends what had occurred after they'd left Parker Center.

"Ah'm t' get back with Timone tomorrow afternoon, an' there's a good chance Ah can get in on a buy by Friday. The one real favor that IA's done for us is round up a few of the names on that list they got."

"That list's a phony." Starsky objected.

"'Parently not entirely, cause there were some real drug dealers on it who ain't too happy that their names turned up in the hands of the po-lice. Simmonetti had a couple o' guys picked up. One guy in particular, a LeRoy King Royal, his real name, Ah ain't lyin', is shoutin' about his constitutional rights and what could happen to a certain Tito Ramirez if he gets out." Washington smiled, big and nasty, "But that puts a few vacancies on the list-so's there'll probably be some extra product in the next shipment that gets smuggled in."

"And do we know how it gets into the country?" Hutch asked curiously.

"Not yet, but the port authority has been put on alert. If they do find the smugglers, they're to let 'em on through in this case..."

"Good, because I don't think Friday is soon enough for Ramirez and Valdez to get their comeuppance." Starsky snarled.

"Don't go thinkin' 'bout any vigilante justice, Marshall Dillon." Washington gently tapped Starsky's swollen left knuckles with a blunt forefinger, "That left hook'll get you in trouble."  
"Naw." Starsky mimed a quick jab with his fist, "It's my rabbit punch I'm famous for."

"More like infamous." Hutch laughed shortly.

+++++++++++++++++++

Jilly stared at herself in the mirror, filled with loathing at the sight of her unfamiliar body. The peaches and cream toned skin of her torso was pockmarked with wicked bruising, creating a horrible patchwork quilt of black, blue and green. She turned away, covering the evidence with comfortable, roomy nurse's scrubs. It was Wednesday and she'd stayed away for two days, unwilling, afraid, to tell anyone what had happened. Other nurses knew of her infatuation with Bicho, she'd been warned that he was dangerous. It was her own fault, they'd say. She'd been playing with fire all along.

Now she had to go back to work or risk losing her job. Sick leave for more than three days required a doctor's note and there was no way Jilly McKenna was going to let anyone she knew examine her.

She felt like such a fool. She'd known Bicho could be rough and dangerous. Hell, that was what had attracted her to him. But how could anyone named Jesuchristo do this to a woman? How could she admit she'd been such an idiot?

Wincing as she raised her arms to braid her hair, Jilly resolved not to tell anyone and just never associate with Bicho Valdez again. The man was a cruel, vicious monster and deserved to be in prison, but she wasn't the person to put him there. Not now, not yet.

Walking into the hospital, Jilly was greeted with sympathy from friends who thought she'd had the flu and several offered old wives tales and home remedies in case she had a relapse. Chicken soup and a hot toddy probably wouldn't cure what ailed her and she felt absurdly like crying as she called in the first case of the morning for an initial set of vital signs.

Work soothed her until she was too busy to think of her own bruises. Except, every once in a while, she'd stoop or stretch to reach something and feel the pain along her ribs and through her pelvis. Once she even had to run to the bathroom to recover from the trembling that seized her. It had to get easier.

At her midmorning break, Jilly nibbled absently on an apple, glancing at the paper spread carelessly out on the nurse's lounge table. "Local cops investigating one of their own in connection to drug buy" caught her eye and she scanned the article with a quickened breath. The fact that the drugs had been bought on a street in the Hispanic section and were hidden inside 'art objects' was included in the article. Local cops? Why did that make her guts tighten?

Bicho. Bicho had been asking about the cop who got beat up on Saturday night. It took no stretch of the imagination that Bicho had beaten David Starsky, but why? He must have involved in the investigation into the drug buy.

On her second reading of the article, Jilly realized sickly that it was just possible that David Starsky was the one they were investigating. A paragraph she hadn't gotten to the first time related that Internal Affairs was acting on tips provided by informants who had talked in return for immunity on some unrelated charges. Would Bicho have talked to the police? With the confidential information he had beaten out of her?

Lowering her face into her hands, Jilly wanted to cry. What could she do? She could remember snatches of what Starsky and his blond partner were talking about as she'd slipped in and out of their ER cubicle with medical supplies. They had been discussing the two men who had beaten him. Bicho had said the blond man had gotten a good look at him. Bicho knew who they were because she had told him, and now Starsky was in trouble because of her. What could she do?

+++++++++++

"Sergeant Starsky, how did you happen to know the correct code phrase if you weren't already cognizant of Ramirez and Valdez's drug scheme?" Simmonetti questioned. "Why would you have used the word unique, otherwise?"

"It's in the English language." Starsky seethed. IA had picked him up for a second day of interrogation as he'd walked out of Dr. Mason's office after his post discharge appointment. There'd been no time even to alert Hutch or try to find any sympathetic backup. He was on his own here, and Simmonetti was even more determined than ever to bury his enemy. Starsky wished he'd at least had time to have the prescription for Tylenol with codeine filled that Dr. Mason had written out. His whole chest throbbed like an open wound making it hard to take in a deep breath. Not that Simmonetti or Dryden cared. Especially since the bruise on the right side of Simmonetti's face had blossomed colorfully.

"That kind of flip talk could get you more than just a suspension." Dryden warned, "You could see the inside of a jail cell by the end of the day."

"I was looking for something different." Starsky answered under duress, his jaw tight with the strain not to give Simmonetti a matching mouse on his left cheekbone. "Something unusual or unique. Look it up in the dictionary."

"Listen, Starsky." Simmonetti grabbed a handful of Starsky's shirt collar, his face only inches from the dark haired detective's. "This can be as hard or as easy as you want to make it."

"Simmonetti, I did not buy drugs." Starsky placed his uninjured hand into the lieutenant's solar plexus, "And harassment is against the law, too." With that he shoved hard enough to propel Simmonetti back into his desk. Starsky scrambled up, knocking over the chair he'd been sitting in. His ribs felt like they were caving in on the right, but the physical action was satisfying, nonetheless.

"Simmonetti!" Harold Dobey pounded on the locked door with a heavy fist, "Open up now!"

Dryden glanced warily at his partner who was standing shakily, glaring at Starsky with a murderous expression, before unlocking the door.

"Nice of you to start without me." Dobey bellowed, his voice like a bear's.

"You knew about this?" Starsky panted.

"Only that they had more questions." The Captain replied, concerned to see the aftermath of another fight. "But I thought we had agreed to wait until Sergeant Starsky had council."

"This was just a continuance of yesterday's inquires." Simmonetti said smoothly, "He doesn't need council because the formal charges haven't been filed yet."

"Ya think I might have a difference of opinion?" Starsky fired back.

"The precinct's lawyer, Michenku, is in court this morning." Dobey explained with captainly demeanor. "And this interrogation will be tabled until he is available. Is that clear?"

"The commissioner wants this matter dealt with as quickly as possible." Dryden put in. "It makes the department look bad to have it's own buying..."

"You want some of what I gave your partner?" Starsky threatened, knowing he looked like a yappy little dog next to Dryden's height.

"That'll be enough, Detective." Dobey's authority was without question, even to IA. "There may be some new details on this case in the next few hours. Sergeant Anderson just left after getting a phone call on a lead."

"Why weren't we informed?" Simmonetti rubbed his belly where Starsky had hit him, straightening his pinstriped vest to recover his own authority.

"I just have. Details were sketchy." Dobey took Starsky's arm, ushering him out into the hall, "This man is supposed to be on medical leave, in case you were unaware."

"We saw his doctor." Dryden intoned as the door shut behind them.

++++++++++++++

Entering the bar on Olivera Street for the first time since Saturday, Hutch was hit was an onslaught of emotions he'd had to suppress most of the time. He'd been scared out of his mind when he thought Starsky was missing and then to have this whole can of worms open up with such devastation was too overwhelming to comprehend. How could such a simple act as buying a funny looking figure lead to Starsky beaten up and under suspicion of buying drugs? He longed to buy a drink, but this morning he really was on duty.

Angela Ramirez had her back to the door when Hutch entered. As before, the dimly lit bar was a cool haven on a warm morning. The place was nearly deserted, only a lone patron nursing a beer in the farthest corner, his head dipped over a Spanish language newspaper.

"Can I help...?" Angela's words hung in the air when she recognized the blond detective, her face going pale. "I already talked to the other police, I don' know anything about my brother, if that's what you're going to ask."

"Nope, your psychic powers must be on the blink today." Hutch flashed his badge so that there would be no confusion about who he was. "I wanted to find out where your boyfriend Reuben Flores was."

She couldn't quite hide the shock on her face before a blank mask slid down, "I don't know where he is."

"You can't keep track of any of the men in your life, can you?" He asked rhetorically. "Don't know where your brother lives...which by the way, in case you want to write, we found his apartment, but he wasn't there. And now you don't know where your boyfriend is, either. Do you know his address?"

"Yes," she spat. "I don't have to talk to you."

"No, I guess you don't. But I could bring you up on charges of obstruction of justice, and hey, maybe even accomplice to attempted murder."

"H-how? I haven't done anything!" Angela protested, her dark hair dipping into her eyes when she shook her head.

"You saw Starsky and me here the day he was beat up. Your brother and Valdez were here at the bar, I saw them."

"They didn't murder your partner. He's all right, Bich..." She stopped, realizing she'd said too much.

"What, Bicho told you Starsky got out of the hospital? And how did he know, huh?" Hutch wanted to push harder, he had a gut feeling that with just the right leverage, Angela would fold. But he held back, not wanting to antagonize her. He had volunteered to question the bar maid while Wong and Myers were visiting Flores' known haunts, so that if Flores got wind of their pursuit, there would be detectives in many of the places he might bolt to.

"I have to get back to work, the manager's not here right now," Angela bluffed, grabbing a sponge to wipe off a nonexistent mark on the bar.

"Then get me a coke." Hutch nodded to the other patron who was attempting to sneak out without notice after he'd overheard the conversation going on. "See, he's leaving and I'll be the only person in here, so you have to talk to me. Isn't that what bartenders do?"

"I'm not a bartender."

"Sorry, bar maids-hostesses, waitress, whatever damn job title you want to pick. My partner was beat up by your brother and Valdez and now I want to talk to your boyfriend because I think he knows a lot."

Angela slammed down an open coke can, the foam spurting out the top and all over her hand. "That's a dollar."

"Steep prices for a coke I could get out of a machine for fifty cents." Hutch laid a ten down just outside the puddle of sticky coke. "Why did Reuben talk to the police?"

"Doin' his civic duty." She curled her lip, applying the sponge to the spill. The ten had disappeared so quickly Hutch had to glance in the wallet still in his hand to make sure he'd actually pulled the money out.

"But he lied. That's perjury and can get him thrown back into prison. His parole officer wasn't too happy to hear about that."

"It wasn't no lie."

"It was, and I can prove it." Hutch nodded, sipping the cola, It was too early in the morning for soft drinks, to his way of thinking, but Starsky would have gulped the drink down in two swallows. Angela had her head down, scrubbing at the now clean bar as if her life depended on it. "Angela? Why did he talk to the police?" Hutch stopped her hand with his, forcing her to look at him. There were tears in her eyes.

"Cause Tito tol' him to, okay? Cause Bicho would hurt him real bad if he didn't, and now he'll come after me." Tears streaked down her pretty pointed nose, leaving black streaks of mascara on her cheeks.

"Tito told him to? Do you need protection?" Hutch remembered the conversation with Huggy. Angela didn't look abused, but she certainly lived in what the social workers termed a high risk situation. "Who would come after you? Bicho or Flores?"

"Either, both, I don't know." Her bare shoulders shook with sobs, but she pulled her hand away from Hutch's, hugging herself fiercely before sinking down to the floor in misery.

Hutch used the bar phone to call the county social worker and a female officer to come down to the bar. Unless the manager showed up, Gueverra's was closing for the day.

What earthly reason would Tito Ramirez have for sending Flores to talk to the police? To thrown suspicion off him? No doubt with an investigation focusing on a cop he'd hoped there would be less spotlight on himself and could close up shop or shift his operation elsewhere before IA found out it was all a lie.

There was nothing more Angela was willing to say, she just cried until the social worker came to take her to a battered woman's shelter, leaving Hutch to assign a patrol unit to keep their eye on the bar in case Flores did show up. The manager never did return.

Hutch was surprised to find Starsky cooling his heels at their communal desk under Dobey's watchful eye when he returned. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going home after Dr. Mason's appointment."

"So did I, but Simmonetti had me picked up before I could even call a cab." Starsky growled, still angry. Hutch had left him off at the doctor's without a car to ensure that he wouldn't be able to drive home.

"Why?" Hutch could feel anger heating his internal organs. What an underhanded move!

"There were more questions." Dobey inserted, "I thought we'd agreed to do it peacefully with the department's lawyer listening in, but he went behind my back."

"That bastard."

"Dobey stormed in there." Starsky grinned crookedly, "But I'd already knocked Simmonetti down again."

"You gotta stop doing that, It's no wonder he doesn't like you."

"He's such a tempting target." Starsky took his feet off Hutch's chair so his partner could sit down, "But Anderson may have some news."

"A woman, a nurse, from St. Joseph's called while you were out, claiming to have information pertaining to Starsky's case." Dobey explained, resting his bulk on the edge of the table.

"One of the nurses who took care of you the night of the beating?" Hutch asked.

"I guess."

"Well, I learned that Ramirez told Flores to talk to IA. They got his fingerprints out of Starsky's apartment, didn't they?"

"You know they did. Simmonetti thinks that's easily explained because Starsky would have had his drug dealer over to the house to buy the heroin in a private setting." Dobey grunted.

"You been having pushers over for dinner lately?" Hutch quirked his eyebrows ironically, "And didn't invite me?"

"What can I say, didn't want antagonistic conversation over the canap�s." Starsky quipped. "His fingerprints were all over the blue banded Mayan figure."

"You're not supposed to read police reports when you're on suspension." Dobey scolded.

"I thought it was medical leave." Starsky responded mildly. He really could go for some painkillers right then, his ribs aching all in different keys like a xylophone being hit with a mallet. There was only that old stand by, aspirin in the squadroom, however. He shook out four from the bottle next to his pink piggy bank and downed them with cold, stale coffee.

The combination of bitter and bitter burned going down his esophagus, combining with the churning acid in his stomach to produce some hefty heartburn. He needed to eat something soon.

"I'm gonna get something from one of the machines." Starsky got up slowly, but even guarding his right side he imagined he could feel the ribs shift unnaturally.

"You okay, buddy?" Hutch asked in concern. Starsky looked pale, his cheeks highlighted green.

"I just want something to eat." Starsky pasted on a fakey smile that fooled no one, especially not Hutch. He suddenly felt like shit and would have preferred to lie down to waiting around for a witness who MIGHT have information that could help his case.

"Sit down, I'll run out to the lunch wagon and get you some soup." Hutch gently pushed his down into his chair, "Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll have some without the roach larvae."

"Hey, don't let that get around or everyone's want some." Starsky joked faintly, keeping his right arm tightly against his chest and then using his forefinger to press in on his stomach. Strangely, that seemed to relieve the heartburn.

Hutch was gone less that five minutes when Anderson arrived with a tense Jilly McKenna in tow. Starsky recognized her immediately as his ER nurse, but also recognized the tight way she held her body, elbows pressed in at the waist.

"Miss McKenna, thanks for coming in." Starsky held out his left hand without getting up.

"I just want to make sure the...facts are accurate." Jilly bit her bottom lip, wishing she'd never made that call to the police.

"We should take this into an interrogation room, Lou." He glanced up at the older man, "For privacy's sake."

"Sure, Starsky." Lou nodded, "Across the hall, Miss McKenna." He directed, holding open the door. As the nurse walked out, Anderson mouthed to Starsky, "Aren't you on...?"

"Medical leave." Starsky answered smoothly. "I was just gonna eat my lunch in the other room."

Anderson winked, realizing that Starsky would be in the observation room while Miss McKenna was being interviewed. "Sergeant Hutchinson'll be right back, ma'am." He showed Jilly the unadorned room, seating her at the battle scared wooden table, "D'you want some coffee? Water?"

"Coffee would be fine." Jilly nodded stiffly. It was already overwhelming and she knew if she had to tell her story multiple times, to many different officers, it was only going to get worse. This was way more than she expected.

"How well did you know Valdez?" Starsky asked softly, from the door of the interrogation room. It was absolutely forbidden that he be talking to a witness for his own case, much less questioning her. If he never completely entered the room, he could claim they were just chatting until the formal questioning got under way.

"Not really well." Jilly fudged, although it probably was the truth. A few drinks after work and sex really didn't quality two people as great friends.

"But he beat you up, didn't he?" Starsky stated flatly.

"How did you know?"

"You move as carefully as I do." He laughed shortly, ignoring the flare of pain that caused. So far the extra strength aspirin were not living up to their advertised reputation. "When?"

"Isn't this supposed to be a formal questioning? Sergeant Anderson said it would be taped." She balked, fiddling with the loose strands of hair around her ears for something to do.

"Yah, in fact, here's Hutch now." Starsky heard his partner talking to Anderson in the hall. "He's in charge, I'm just going to eat my soup. Thank you for coming down. It helps a lot."

"You're welcome." Her nurse's eye told her that Starsky wasn't recovering swiftly, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he was down at the police department at all, but the tall, blond man she'd seen him with in the ER arrived carrying a Styrofoam container of soup and a brown bag.

"Hutch, I'll eat it in there." Starsky inclined his head to the adjoining room, indicating without a word that he wanted Hutch to follow him.

"Miss McKenna, I'll be right with you." Hutch gave her a brilliant smile, "Did Anderson bring you any coffee?"

"Here it is." Lou produced the cup, "I forgot to ask if you want creamer? Sugar? Cause I'll have to go get some."

"No bother." Jilly curved her fingers around the heated cup. She'd been icy cold since she'd made the decision to talk to the police.

"No trouble at all, sit tight, I'll be right back."

Closing the observation room door, Hutch arranged the lunch supplies on the table, "What did you want to tell me?"

"Did Lou say anything about her testimony?"

"Only that she that she was probably the one who told Valdez your name."

"How?"

"He threatened her, I think, I didn't get everything she told him."

"She's beat up bad." Starsky opened the container of soup, his face suddenly enveloped in steam. He nodded towards the one way window, showing Jilly sipping her coffee with a somber expression "You can't see it sitting down, but she's hurting."

"How do you know?"

Starsky just gave him a tired, you-had-to-ask expression, "I do. Ask her if she was raped."

"God, that guy is a bastard." Hutch explained his meeting with Angela, finishing with the news that he didn't think she would be much help as scared as she was. "So, we're pinning a lot on that nurse's shoulders."

"You're the one who though she looked like she could handle herself back at the hospital."

"Maybe I was wrong. Stay in here and eat and I'll drive you home after this." Hutch waved a finger at him, filching some potato chips from the bag Starsky had just opened.

"Hey." Starsky called, suddenly not really wanting to be left alone. Hutch paused, a bemused expression on his face. "What kind of soup is this anyway?"

"Roach Larvae was the only kind he had left."

Grimacing, Starsky regarded his raised spoonful with suspicion. He took a tentative taste and smiled, it was minestrone. The little bits of barley floating amongst the vegetables did look a bit like larvae though.

After ensuring there was a female officer present in the room and getting rid of the required preliminaries identifying the involved civilians and detectives, the nature of the interrogation and a few opening questions, Hutch dove into the heart of the matter with Jilly.

"Tell me exactly what happened the night Bicho Valdez came to see you."

"I was leaving the ER, on Sunday, after work." Jilly began.

"Late at night?" Hutch clarified.

"Around midnight-when I always get off." She agreed, recalling the little scare Valdez had given her when he'd come out from behind a van. She explained that they'd gone for drinks and then back to her house, but admitting that they'd had sex was harder to voice aloud than she'd even imagined.

"You were more than just acquaintances, weren't you?" Hutch coached, remembering Starsky's concerns. The red head nodded reluctantly, her guilt at the illicit and stupid affair weighing heavily on her belly. "You had sex?"

"Yes."

"Consequential?" Hutch listened to the ambient sounds in the room, waiting for her answer. The tape player whirred softly, recording their every word. Officer Anna Olensky shifted her feet, sitting with quiet support near Jilly. Hutch had always liked Anna, although they rarely said more than a few words of greeting in the hall. The statuesque blond seemed to hold all the world's mothering and protective skills in her long, narrow hands. Her very presence could calm an otherwise volatile scene. She was simply a good person.

"Y-yes, at first." Jilly finally admitted, twisting the end of her braid with brutal fingers.

"At first?"

"We'd had...relations in the past." Jilly bit her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay, but it wasn't working. "That night-the first time, it was like always. He could be rough, but..."

"You let him." Hutch frowned. Even if Valdez had later raped her, it would be hard to prove in court because she'd been a willing participant, even to the rough stuff up until then. Even if rape charges never came to trial, a jury on the case for Starsky's beating might have a hard time believing McKenna's testimony. Bicho may have beaten her, but she'd encouraged it, maybe even enjoyed it. So why would she turn against him at this late date? "He always knocked you around?"

Jilly flinched, feeling the hard press of Bicho's finger prying open her labia, forcing himself inside. "He'd left bruises."

At that statement, Anna laid a soothing hand on Jilly's shoulder, supporting her without a word.

"This time, too?" Hutch felt cruel asking these questions, but it was part of his job.

Jilly sobbed quietly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "We'd finished and I thought he was going to go then, but he started asking all these questions, badgering me when I didn't answer."

"Questions about what?"

"Your partner, the man who came in beat up on Saturday night."

"Did he ask for Starsky by name?"

"No. He described the scrape...down his face. Like he knew all about it." Her belly cramped painfully.

"And he wanted to know what had happened to him at the hospital?"

"Yes, I'm sorry!" She tried to stifle the tears, "I told Bicho you two were cops and he went off, raving about you seeing him and asking what you knew about him."

"What did you say?"

"I didn't know any more than that!" She wailed, "I could be fired for talking about patients without their knowledge."

"But he forced it out of you."

"Yes." She wept. Anna handed her a Kleenex, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"Jilly, did he rape you?"

"Yes."

++++++++++++++++++

Not exactly feeling like a white knight at the moment, or even a very nice person, Hutch concluded the interview, then saw to it that the statement was quickly typed up so that Jilly could be on her way as soon as possible. Her words were damning for Bicho Valdez, and by extension, to Tito Ramirez, but Hutch wasn't sure they would help Starsky's predicament as much as they'd hoped. Most of what she had to say was too vague to be construed as usable evidence without more back up. Valdez, having been a former employee of St. Joseph's could simply have hacked into the computers there to get the information and Jilly could be lying, using it as an excuse to accuse him of rape. It was days too late to get any samples of semen or blood off of her body, anyway. A thorough exam might show bruising or tearing, come to think of it. He gave Officer Olensky the task of seeing that this be done by a doctor before she left Jilly alone.

Once Anna had driven Jilly back to the hospital to have the exam and pick up her car, he went in search of his partner. Starsky was snoozing, head down on the table in the observation room, having eaten only about half of the container of soup.

"Hey, buddy, rise and shine," Hutch called.

"Not today." Starsky winced, drawing himself up slowly, guarding his right side.

"What did that doctor have to say, this morning?" Hutch didn't like the look of him at all.

"Hand's fine." Starsky held up his ace bandaged left hand. "Just strained acoupla tendons or something. The ribs are healing."

"Not very fast." Hutch worried.

"He gave me a prescription for some pain pills, but I didn't have time to have it filled before Simmonetti crashed the party."

"Then let's swing by a pharmacy on the way home."

"Jilly wasn't much help, was she?" Starsky said bleakly.

"She proved Bicho was out to get you." Hutch tried to sound encouraging. "That he found out you were a cop. That combined with the fact that Tito told Flores to snitch to IA goes a long way."

"Doesn't prove I didn't buy drugs." Starsky countered.

"I know you didn't."

"Thanks, but Simmonetti already thinks you're biased."

"Washington's going to catch them in the act and you'll be exonerated." Hutch promised, leading the way out of the room.

"It looks bad, Hutch. If they think you're covering for me. If they even think you coerced Jilly or Angela in any way..."

"I'm usually the one worrying, it's not your job." The blond man told him firmly, "In fact, you're not supposed to be here at all, so let's get going."

++++++++++++++++++++++

Unlocking the smaller door cut into the large door of his warehouse, Tito Ramirez surveyed his domain with the pride of a Southern gentleman overseeing his plantation. He was a success in the business of life, something his wetback, illegal grape picking father could never say. Despite the disastrous start to the week, things were once again running smoothly. Another shipment was due any moment, and, although the police had threatened, arrested and scared off some of his customers, more were coming out of the woodwork, perhaps lured by his sudden notoriety.

He'd just finished a very satisfactory meeting with the newest buyer, a big, bald headed nigger with the memorable name of LaVern Williams.

LaVern. It had been all Tito could do to keep from laughing at the guy's first name. Wasn't LaVern a girl's name? Not that Williams could be mistaken for a woman by any stretch of the imagination. He was six four if he was an inch, topping the tall slender Ramirez by two inches at least.

The sound of an untuned truck alerted him and he cranked the larger door open to admit the vehicle. Bicho was behind the wheel, and he looked pleased.

"Never had it so easy, man." Bicho boasted, "Was on and off the ship fastern' shit."

"Good work, cause we got buyers waitin'." Tito unlatched the rear of the truck, leaping easily inside to grab the first of the three boxes. "Get the dolly, _cabron._ "

Flashing Ramirez a nasty look, Bicho did as requested. "Your sister wasn't at the bar this afternoon."

"Maybe it's her day off." Tito grunted, stacking the boxes carefully on the dolly.

"Manger said she left this morning with the cops-left the place deserted."

Tito swung around, furious. "Why didn't that puta give me a call sooner?"

"He wasn't there either, and he's pissed at Angela for leaving the place unlocked."

"Shit." Ramirez smacked the side of the truck, causing a dull thud that echoed off the metal sides. "I've gotta go find her. Unpack the stuff and don't sample the merchandise."

" _Chingado,_ " Bicho swore viciously in his native language. "Get yourself another slave dog."

"You want the money, you gotta do some of the work." Tito twisted his fist into the soft fabric of Bicho's polyester shirt, jerking him up. "You think you're so tough, little man, but you ain't Ali, and you could end up in an alley just the same as that cop you slammed."

"I ain't afraid of Flores." Valdez spit, but off to the side, narrowly avoiding splattering the arm that held him fast. Ramirez jumped back, loosing his grip.

" _Bandejo._ " Tito shook his hand, although he hadn't been splashed, "Get the figures unpacked, Bicho, or you're out on your ass. You got that?"

"Loud an' clear, Chico," Bicho sneered, "You talk to that guy Timone's friend was pushin' on us?"

"Yeah, he's solid. Up from San Diego to expand his business and needs a couple of kilos to show around. He looks like steady business since Royal got busted."

"Fucking rati." Bicho cursed the cops, finally starting to shuttle the boxes across the warehouse to the table for unloading and checking the hidden product. "It's all that Starsky's fault all this came down."

"He won't be a cop much longer from what the news is sayin'." Tito laughed. "We did a number on him he won't never forget."

"Go find your sister, I'll get this done." Bicho popped a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek, prying open the first packing crate with a crowbar.

++++++++++++++++++

Hutch spent the night again at Starsky's, and found it difficult to leave in the morning. He was becoming increasingly concerned with his best friend's health. The ribs didn't seem to be healing very well, and despite Dr. Mason's saying he was coming along as expected, Starsky seemed worse off as the week went on, not better. Of course, he hadn't exactly been lying around doing nothing. Hutch had no doubt that Starsky had neglected to mention getting into brawls with Simmonetti to his doctor.

Hoping Starsky would stay asleep until after he left, Hutch showered and dressed as quietly as possible, toasting a piece of bread for a quick breakfast. He had his jacket on and was just adjusting his shoulder holster when he heard a sound behind him.

"Sneaking out?" Starsky asked ruefully.

"Didn't want to wake you." Hutch flushed slightly, guilty as charged. "Get back to bed."

"I'm okay, I'd rather be up." Starsky walked stiffly across the room to the couch, his right arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage.

"I started a pot of coffee in the kitchen." Hutch said, "I'm talking to IA first thing this morning."

"Hutch, this isn't your fight, you don't have to do that."

"Like hell it isn't." Hutch crossed the room in two angry strides, "Starsky, you didn't do anything. They cannot throw away your career on a bunch of trumped up charges."

"Half of why they're doin' this ain't because of the drugs thing and you know it." Starsky took a deep breath that pulled at his aching muscles up and down his chest wall.

"Simmonetti woulda liked to throw me out on my ear years ago. He's always thought I was a hot dog and a screw up."

"Well, the first part is true." Hutch said with affection. "I always told you you are what you eat." This earned a tired smile from the curly haired man. "Starsky, you need to take it easy, stop provoking Simmonetti and Dryden to add more charges to the list and let us handle it."

"Yes sir, Sergeant Hutchinson, sir." Starsky did a sloppy imitation of his former army salute.

"Stay out of trouble this morning." Hutch warned. "I'll call you later on to tell you what they said."

Starsky watched the door closed with a heavy heart. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't feel safe in the apartment by himself. Knowing that Valdez and Ramirez had rummaged through his stuff, not to mention his own comrades in arms under the auspices of IA made him distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn't so much that he expected anyone to return, just the fact that they'd been there gave him a distinctly creepy feeling. A violation of the sanctity of his home.

Hutch went in search of Simmonetti and Dryden first thing, the information gleaned from yesterday's interviews clutched in his hand. Dryden was out of the building, but the curly haired half of the team was pouring over a confidential report when Hutch handed him the papers.

"Not exactly convincing stuff." Was Simmonetti 's first comment after he finished reading.

"The nurse admits Valdez forced her to tell him Starsky's name, we also found out he used to work at the hospital, in records, and probably broke into their files to find his address!" Hutch focused on staying reasonable and calm, although the sight of the bruise on the other man's face gave him a grim satisfaction. "Ramirez' own sister says he told her boyfriend Flores to come talk to you."

"No where do you have any shred of evidence that your partner isn't dirty." Simmonetti sneered. "We found drugs in his house, what more proof do you need?"

"Proof that you aren't using this as a way to get rid of him." Hutch hissed.

"We try to be impartial, but Starsky has been belligerent and surly." The other man interlaced his fingers, sitting strongly behind his own desk, on his own turf. He felt powerful. "Captain Dobey stopped us before we could complete our interrogation yesterday because Michenku was unavoidably detained, but once he's available, I plan to continue questioning Starsky until I get all the facts."

"There aren't any, Simmonetti. It's all a house of cards, and you know it or you would have already formally charged him."

"You plan to have Sergeant Washington go undercover to buy drugs from Tito Ramirez tomorrow night." Simmonetti said, ignoring Hutch's words. "That arrest had better be by the book all the way down the line, or some heads will roll and they won't be mine. If I get the slightest whiff of collusion between you and Ramirez, you won't be waiting for formal charges any longer."

"Be prepared for one hell of a surprise." Hutch said tersely, wanting to curse the man out. "None of the detectives involved in this case are in any way dirty and Starsky will be back on the job when this is all over."

"I'm proud to have good honest cops on the force, but even you can't protect your partner if he's gone bad." Simmonetti responded, surprisingly calmly. "If you think you can get enough evidence to support your claim that he's being set up, be my guest."

"My god, you're like a pitbull, Simmonetti, you won't let go of this!" Hutch pushed back his chair, ready to leave. There was nothing to be gained by pointlessly arguing about it over and over. "What more evidence do I have to get to prove that Starsky didn't buy the drugs?"

"Something more than 'he said, she said', something substantial, Hutchinson. You're a good detective, you know that. Something that will hold up in court."

Amazed that the man had given him a compliment, Hutch nodded tersely and left.

What he found on his desk waiting for him went a long way to improving his mood, however. Obtaining a warrant to search the residences of Bicho Valdez and Tito Ramirez had taken longer than expected, but it had finally been approved by the judge. Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, Hutch decided not to grouse to Dobey about why it had taken so long. After asking Lou Anderson to go along for reinforcement, the two detectives immediately headed over to the first address.

Since the police had tracked down where the two lived, they'd been continuously staked out but neither drug dealer had returned. Both had gone to ground, no doubt, aware of the increased police scrutiny. Hutch only hoped they hadn't completely removed any evidence inside the two places before their disappearance.

Ramirez' place proved a waste of effort. Either he rarely spent any time there or he was extremely careful about leaving incriminating things lying around. That or he was just a lousy interior decorator. The apartment had all the charm of a cut-rate hotel room.

Bicho Valdez' second floor walk up on the other hand, was a veritable cornucopia of circumstantial evidence. The most interesting and in Hutch's opinion, damning, was a blue binder containing glossy photos of Mexican artifacts. Whether they were originals or copies wasn't discernable. The binder, along with a number of other books and papers were bundled up to be taken back and booked as evidence.

Pleased with his turn of fortune, Hutch decided he'd bring home dinner for his house bound partner, knowing Starsky needed at least one pizza a week to make his life happy. And lately his life hadn't been very happy.

In the squadroom Washington joined Hutch and Anderson who were examining the haul. Washington found it hard to stay out of the day to day investigation even with his undercover role heating up. Sincerely hoping he didn't have to maintain the part of LaVern Williams much longer, Washington always found undercover assignments the hardest of all. He'd never liked acting in school and the whole effort of keeping up appearances and remembering the cover story just added undue stress. He was happiest with a good, solid, old fashioned investigation and bust.

"This's pretty good stuff." Washington complimented, flipping through the binder of art objects, "Cain't tell from a photograph whether it's the real deal or not, but that's Mayan..." He turned a few more pages, admiring the ceramics and colorful designs painted on the sides. "That one's Incan." He pointed to a black faced god with bands of gold on headdress, eyelids and base, wearing large gold hoops in the ears.

"Damn," Hutch swallowed his surprise. "That's Igor."

"Name suits him," Washington nodded his big baldhead.

"I'd forgotten you took art history." Hutch looked up at the huge man. "Least this leads a trail back to Valdez and by extension to Ramirez."

"Looks like my brother-in-law," Anderson commented while patting his pockets for loose change. "Gonna take a run to the vending machine. Want a soda?"

"No, thanks." Hutch answered, the photo of the ugly figure bringing back memories of the fun afternoon and then his frantic worry for Starsky's safety.

Washington shook his head at Anderson; "Ah kin see why Simmonetti ain't exactly seein' thangs from your point of view, though." Washington said dryly. "We ain't got diddly that actually places Valdez or Ramirez with the drugs an' they did find 'em at Starsky's..."

"What...?"

"Hey, don't look at me like that, Ah'm just sayin' it like it is. We'll nail these yahoos t'morrow night when he tries to sell me th'goods." The younger man held up his hands in a defensive posture, "Then Ah'll personally get him t'spill the truth about Little Davey."

"Can I get tickets to that show?" Hutch laughed.

"Standing room only, Hutch, but you get the front row center." Washington bared his white teeth in a nasty grin.

"I'd better get going, Starsky's probably climbing the walls with boredom by now." Hutch stood, "He's never been good with enforced inactivity."

"Gonna perk him up with a pizza?" Washington stuffed paper into his Remington typewriter in preparation for finishing some reports from a case he'd worked on the week prior.

"A little cheese, pepperoni and tomato sauce on a crust and he's a happy camper." Hutch located the telephone book under a mountain of unfinished paperwork on Starsky's side of the desk and looked up Rosetta's Pizzeria. He phoned in an order for a large with the healthiest toppings he could get away with and still make Starsky happy and promised he'd be right over to pick it up.

++++++++++++++++++

"Your order, sir," Hutch said when the door opened. He bent slightly at the waist, presenting the large, flat box to the owner of the house.

"No tip for you, you're pretty slow. I ordered that last Saturday." Starsky accepted the box, inhaling the spicy aroma. "Is it free?"

"You didn't have to pay for it." Hutch laughed. He carried a six-pack of beer into the kitchen. After popping the top on a long necked bottle and taking his first, cold drink he gathered up plates, napkins and a root beer for Starsky to bring back into the living room. "We searched Valdez' apartment today. Found a binder full of photos of the statues they were using to ship the stuff and one of them was Igor.'

"How'd he look?" Starsky asked wistfully.

"Starsk, he's an inanimate object. Looked exactly the same as the last time you saw him." Hutch groaned, helping himself to a piece of pizza.

"Yah, I guess he would, at that." Starsky sighed, lifting up a slice of pizza. The melting cheese strings attached themselves firmly to the box, sliding the sausage, peppers and mushrooms right off the crust. He made a grab for the tasty mess, but moved too quickly, pain shooting up from his side to shoulder. "Damn." Starsky whispered, sweat beading his forehead. He wrapped both arms around his body, trying to hold the pain at bay and protecting his tender ribs at the same time.

Hutch hovered anxiously, unsure whether Starsky would allow any "mother henning" and not wanting to point out the obvious, that if he'd wear the Velco vest like the doctor had prescribed, the ribs might not hurt so much.

"Take a seat, Hutch." Starsky rasped, stifling a half cough that rose unbidden from his burning lungs. "S'okay." He managed a less strangled breath, attempting to act as if nothing had happened. "I take it Valdez wasn't there to welcome you into his home?" He leaned forward carefully to pick up a different slice of pizza and took a satisfying bite. When Hutch still hadn't moved, his emotions warring on his handsome face, Starsky gave him a cocky grin. "Aren't you going to eat?" He popped more pizza into his mouth, hiding the fact that his ribs still felt like broken kindling being fed into a furnace.

"No, yes-uh," Hutch stammered, taking a swig of the beer he still held in his hand to cover his indecisiveness and sort out his sentences. "No, Valdez wasn't around but at least he left evidence behind. Ramirez must have cleaned out a long time ago, didn't even look like he lived there--ever." He sat back down, attacking his dinner with savage hunger.

"When is Brick supposed to meet with him?" Starsky asked, chewing more slowly now that the aches and pains had settled down to a more manageable level. He picked up a second piece and ate with appreciation for the mingled flavors of spicy tomato sauce and ripe olives. He didn't even care that Hutch had included the dreaded red and green peppers. A full stomach just helped matters all the way around.

"Nine thirty at a bar called White Horse, which Ramirez told him is near the warehouse."

"Over on ninety-first street." Starsky recognized the name. "Rough part of town." He eyed Hutch taking another long swallow from his beer bottle. "How come I don't have a beer?"

"You've got root beer."

"S'not the same thing and you know it."

"Then, because you're on painkillers."

"Alcohol is well known for pain relief."

"Not as far as your doctor is concerned. You may not have read the little pamphlet that came with your prescription, but I did." Hutch clinked bottles with his partner.

"Up yours." Starsky said without any real rancor, tipping his bottle back for a cool, sweet drink. "Least you bought the fancy stuff instead of that generic swill."

"Only the best for you, pal." Hutch grinned, finally receiving a grumpy half grin in return.

"You goin' along as back up?" Starsky asked, getting back to the original subject.

"Yes. There'll be four cars ringing the bar, if they walk, jog or drive over to the warehouse, we've got them."

"What about Valdez?" Starsky absently picked off a few bits of pepper off his last slice of pizza, dropping them onto the greasy box top.

"Good question. He's the unknown in the equation. Brick couldn't exactly come out and ask if Ramirez was bringing anyone else along, or he'd reveal how much he knows about them."

"I've got an idea." Starsky said brightly.

"Do I want to hear this?" Hutch finished his drink and contemplated having another. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to get drunk the night before a big bust, but two beers wouldn't do more than relax him.

"I'll be a valuable asset to the team. Brick'll be wearin' a wire, right?"

"Yes." Hutch looked dubious.

"Somebody needs to monitor the audio feed. I'm your man. I know I can't be runnin' around right now with these ribs, but..."

"You're on suspension."

"Dobey said it was medical leave. I won't get involved in any of the rough stuff, just sit quietly in the van..." Starsky mimed wearing big ear phones over his ears like he was listening intently.

"You just want to nose in on Washington's gig." Hutch chuckled, getting up to fish a second beer out of the fridge. "You just can't stand not being in on the bust."

"It should be my case!" Starsky protested, "It IS my case. I'm the...what d'you call it...plaintive."

"Plaintiff." The blond man corrected, "And lest we forget, I'll say it again. You're on leave. A fact which I seem to need to point out at regular intervals."

"I guess Simmonetti was underwhelmed when you gave him Jilly McKenna's statement?"

"He said it was circumstantial and didn't negate that we found drugs in your house."

"Damn." Starsky said explosively.

"Just accept the fact that you're not on this case."

"Hutch, you don't know what it's like around here during the day." Starsky widened his eyes in frustration. This was all too reminiscent of his long convalesce after the shooting. Even the pains were weirdly similar, with most of the hurting concentrated in his chest, especially when he took a breath. "If nobody tells Simmonetti I came along, how will he know?"

"I won't even dignify that with an answer," Hutch knew how hard all this had been for Starsky. "This is'll all be over in a day or two. Kick back a little longer; monitor the audio portion of a few old movies. I could rent a VCR..."

"I just...." Starsky didn't finish the sentence. How could he admit he didn't want to be in the house all alone? "A VCR might be a good idea. And a couple movies, too."

"What good would it be without a couple of movies?"

"Don't get hurt, Hutch, promise me?" Starsky looked over at him with uncharacteristic vulnerability.

"Hey, only one of us gets hurt at a time." Hutch joked, "I thought we agreed on that rule a long time ago."

"Just don't forget it. That goes for Brick, too. You tell him."

"I will."

++++++++++++++

Bicho Valdez cruised slowly past the white wooden house for the second time in half an hour. He'd found himself driving out of the way to this part of town almost every day since the police had learned of the smuggling ring. It was all that cop Starsky's fault. He'd been too damned nosy for his own good.

Damned cop. Damned _rati._

He'd had such a sweet deal for over a year. Tito had done most of the planning and ordering, but Bicho had gotten his share. And the money...! Impressed the hell out of the women. He'd had all the pussy he'd needed, and enough fistfights to keep his pecker loaded all the time. His own version of paradise.

Until that nosy cop had blundered into Montoya's shop and fucked up everything.

He flicked his eyes over at the two cars in the driveway; the beater Ford nosed up next to the flashy red Torino like they were lovers. The big blond cop was there again.

One day, Starsky, your protector won't be around anymore and I'll strike hard. Valdez swore with conviction.

Very soon he'd beat that cop dead, like he should have done the first time.

A pure feeling of purpose settled over him, giving him a satisfying sense of vigilante justice. It was only right. The cop had ruined his perfect life, he couldn't go back to his own home and the police were after him at every turn. It was only right that someone had to pay. And Starsky was the person at fault here. Even a court of law would agree with him. Starsky had trespassed, taken something that didn't belong to him and somehow gotten Jilly to betray Bicho's trust in her.

He'd seen the newspaper headlines. Not only was he described as a "known drug dealer with a long history of arrests for assault and battery," which, even he had to admit was true, but now they were calling him a rapist. That was shit...what was the word? Libel? Jilly had asked for it. He'd only given her what she wanted and deserved.

And in the end, he'd give Starsky what he deserved.

With a heavy foot on the accelerator, he roared away from David Starsky's neighborhood.

++++++++++++++

Hutch settled into the seat of the department issue generic sedan, trying to clear his mind of anything but what was to happen in the next few hours. The dark car was parked a block away from the White Horse bar, but it was still 45 minutes before the appointed hour when Brick and Ramirez were supposed to meet. Lots of time to fill with extraneous thought.

At least Starsky was taken care of. Upon arrival at the electronics store this morning, Starsky had been so intrigued by the possibilities of a VCR that he'd plunked down his credit card and bought one. A membership to a video rental shop quickly followed and he was now happily ensconced at home trying to connect wires and cables for his new living room entertainment center. That would certainly be enough to keep him from horning in on the stake out.

"Did I miss anything?" Lou Anderson opened the passenger door, handing over a cup of coffee before ponderously climbing in.

"Just four lucky johns picking up some evening recreation." Hutch answered with a tight smile. He'd have preferred to have Starsky by his side, busted ribs and all, not that Anderson was a bad guy. He just wasn't the person Hutch was accustomed to seeing by his side. "Vice must be letting the hookers off without the obligatory slap on the wrist tonight."

"That one's kind of cute." Anderson inclined his head at a thin girl near the bar in question, her long hair streaked with shocking pink highlights. In the style of punkers, she wore a ripped head banger tee shirt held together with a row of safety pins and torn fishnet stockings under a Band-Aid of a mini skirt. But even with just the uncertain light of a flickering street lamp it was easy to see her face was that of the cheer leader/girl next door variety. She'd originally been a middle-class valley girl, blonde with wide set blue eyes. Now she stood on tottery high heels tricking for money with pink-striped hair. "My son dresses just like that."

"She looks about your son's age." Hutch frowned with a heavy heart. What had brought that pretty little girl to this? He almost wanted to go over, buy her a filling supper and take her back home. He'd worked the streets long enough to know that her home life might not be of the Ozzie and Harriet variety, however. More probably, she'd left a life of beatings by some parent for a life of beatings by some pimp. Finally he tore his eyes away from her, knowing there wasn't a thing he could do right now. He couldn't concern himself with her any longer, not with Brick's undercover to concentrate on.

Because Starsky had been the one to bust open the investigation into Ramirez and Valdez, the Homicide department had taken on the case, since Starsky was one of theirs, instead of handing it over to Narcotics. Now the coordination of the two departments was causing headaches for the respective captains, as everyone wanted a piece of the action.

Luckily, Brick's position had already been cemented, since he'd made contact with Ramirez, and since he wanted Hutch and Anderson along for the ride, there was little Narcotic's captain could do except assign some of his own men into ancillary positions. Thus the four cars ringing the bar, which in Hutch's opinion, was just the right number in case things got out of hand.

He sipped his coffee, watching the neon sign over the bar's entrance, which featured a running white horse. The horse's legs continuously galloped over invisible prairies, going no where.

"There's Ramirez." Anderson spoke quietly, hunched down in the passenger seat.

A tall, thin man dressed in a denim jacket and jeans glanced surreptitiously around before entering the bar. His sharp nosed profile was visible for just a moment before he disappeared inside, but it was enough to ensure that it was indeed Tito Ramirez.

"Shouldn't be too much longer now." Hutch said, as much to fill the car's silence as anything else. When he and Starsky were on a stakeout, there were days when he'd have given anything to have silence. Starsky could expound on any subject for hours at a time-either that or he'd be snoring. But on the occasions where there was silence, it was between two friends who could communicate every bit as meaningfully without words as with them. It was comfortable and easy. With Anderson, there was tension in the air--mostly because both of them were working without their familiar partners in a highly stressful situation.

"That warehouse is supposed to be near here, which d'you think it is?" Anderson asked absently.

Staring down the block, Hutch shrugged, "There's four or five down there. No way we could get a warrant to search all of them, but the minute we get any kind of location, Narcotics will drive down there to be closer. We're here to keep Brick in our sights at all time. We follow him."

"He's hard to miss." Lou chuckled. "That big, black dome's probably visible on the moon."

"He is a head above in a crowd."

Hutch fiddled with the receiver for the wire Brick had hidden on his person. It was dangerous in the extreme to go in wired, lest the criminal being covertly taped discovered it. But then, it was equally as dangerous to go undercover without a back-up person monitoring the situation. Undercover operations always had such a potential for disaster it was a wonder that any of them ever came off smoothly. The safest agenda was to be prepared for whatever happened. Made it hard to pack lightly, though.

With half his mind on Starsky, Hutch wondered if he was too preoccupied to do Washington any good at all and attempted once again to banish his curly haired partner from his conscious thought.

Just in time, too, because LaVern Williams parked his flashy little Camero about a block from the White Horse and sauntered up the sidewalk, coming within a few feet of the nondescript car where Hutch and Anderson sat.

"How ya doin' guys?" Washington murmured, "Hope you can hear me."

Hutch tapped the response button twice, the only way they had to communicate with the detective once he was inside the bar. Washington nodded his big head as he walked diagonally across the street, not once looking over at their car.

++++++++++++++++

Taking a long swallow of beer, Tito Ramirez sighted a huge, black, bald headed man coming in through the front bar wing type doors of the bar and smiled triumphantly. His luck was changing big time. If he could hold onto this big money coming in from San Diego, he could expand his operation to roughly half the state of California. Not bad for the son of migrant farm workers.

"Ramirez." Washington peered down at the slender man, "Where's the stuff?"

"I can't carry it with me." Tito said jovially, "Sit down, get a beer so we can discuss terms."

"The only terms Ah agree to is the damned drugs right in front'a me, Chico." Washington growled, "So move your carcass outta there and find what Ah came for."

"Slow down, Williams." Tito tried to placate, surprised at the man's aggression.

"Business before pleasure."

"My pleasure is business, but if you cain't deliver, we can take this elsewhere."

"Well, I don't show the wares without seeing the coin,"

"You think Ah carry a briefcase for my legal pads?" Washington snorted, finally sitting down to pull the case he carried up onto his lap. With the average price of a statuary figure between $70 and $100, he wasn't carrying a fortune, but it would look impressive if he just lifted the lid a few inches.

"Okay, so you got a bunch of dead presidents." Tito conceded, making an effort to sound casual, but he was excited. Having a steady customer like Williams was just what he'd been looking for. "You gonna bring me return business, or is this just a one time shot?"

"You deliver the stuff, Ah'm satisfied, Ah got lots of friends." Washington smiled with all his big, white teeth. It was an unpleasant sight, guaranteed to scare even the most hardened ex-con. "You do something that makes me angry, Ah got a whole different buncha friends, not so nice ones. Capiche?"

It wasn't Spanish, but Ramirez understood just the same. "Sure you don't wanna relax, order a beer?"

"Ah want a beer, Ah kin open my own fridge." He glared at Ramirez, using his huge bulk to an advantage. He seemed to fill the whole booth, leaving very space for the Mexican man.

"Got to please the customer, that's my motto." Tito held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture, then pulled out a few dollars to pay for his drink and dropped them on the table. "The warehouse is just two blocks away, I got my car on the side street."

"We take mine." Washington said in a voice that brooked no argument. He moved out of the booth, letting Ramirez stand.

"Sure, whatever you want." Imaging the money rolling in it was easy for Tito to be reasonable. "My partner was gonna meet us at ten, but this way we'll beat him. He'll be surprised!"

"Just as long as Ah ain't."

"Hey, Valdez is my partner--he's part of the deal, Williams. Won't be nobody else." He led the way out of the White Horse, pointing out the building just visible two blocks away, adding they could easily walk from this distance.

"Ah got a treadmill for walking. Get in the car."

++++++++++++++

"This is going like clockwork." Anderson chortled, listening as Washington ordered Ramirez into his Camero. Already the two cars bearing Narcotics agents had driven down to Hispanola Drive, where there were three warehouses on three corners. They'd have to wait until they could catch Ramirez and Valdez with the goods in hand, but there would be arrests within the hour. That seemed a foregone conclusion.

"Almost too perfect." Hutch murmured, impressed at Washington's acting skills. The ex-football star usually preferred straight investigations to undercovers, so he hadn't 'starred' in very many. Maybe it was time for that to change. LaVern Williams was a good role for their stable of undercover personas.

Waiting until the flashy red car had driven all the way down to the their destination before starting up the engine, Hutch drove as slowly as traffic would allow to give time for the two men to get inside the building.

"Must get good mornin' sun, facin' east like this." Washington's voice came over the receiver, giving them a relative location of the building on Hispanola.

"Hey, I don't grow orchids, it don't make no difference to me." Ramirez replied. The receiver's reception got staticky as they walked from the car inside, and for a moment Hutch was afraid they'd lost reception all together, but it was simply that neither man had anything to say.

"Nice place." Brick's voice boomed suddenly loud, surprising both detectives listening. Hutch found a place to park illegally, blocking the loading dock to 577 Hispanola. Anderson got out to walk over and confer with their associates on how best to seal off the building with as little fuss as possible. Didn't want to tip their hand too soon and blow the bust before the drugs were out in the open.

"Suits my needs. We really should wait for Valdez." Ramirez pulled out a chair for his client.

"Ah didn' come for a social call, Chico, bring out the 'H' an' let's get on with it." Washington wished he'd come armed with more than a tiny pistol in an ankle holster. All of a sudden he wished Hutch were a lot closer, and the backup detectives were inside the building. He knew they were watching his every move, but he felt very alone and exposed. "Valdez an' me kin get t'know each other the next go round."

"Sure, stuff's all packed up. Just gotta get one of these crates." Tito walked back to where an assortment of boxes were piled. The floor was littered with excelsior and a rat skittered past in the darkness, surprising him. "Gotta lay out some traps," he laughed with embarrassment. The latest shipment was right in front and he bent to pick up the box he'd earmarked for LaVern Williams.

"You'll have enough money t'buy an exterminator year round after this." Washington said affably, but his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. He placed the briefcase on a long table at the same moment Ramirez pulled an imitation Mayan idol out of the box. "Pretty little thang."

"One of our most popular." Tito said proudly, unaware that he had an audience waiting just outside the building, ready to burst in at a moment's notice. "Some of 'em have to be broken t'get the drugs out, but this one comes apart." He demonstrated how the head of the fertility god came off; revealing a cache of plastic wrapped brown powder. "Snug as a bug."

"They all in that crate?"

"Assorted half dozen, just for you." Tito pulled up a slightly different figure that looked vaguely liked a startled fish, tipping it over to reveal the heroin stuffed into the bottom.

"What'll cost for six of them, for the first buy?"

"I'll give you a discount, six of 'em for 450."

"Sounds reasonable..." Washington reached in to pull out the correct amount of money, hoping that Hutch, Anderson and the rest of the cavalry were on their way. He really only had about two hundred in actual U.S. currency. The rest was play money Starsky kept in his locker for flash. It was amazingly accurate looking play money, but not legal tender, all the same.

"This is the police!" Anderson's voice boomed through a loud speaker, "You are surrounded. Come out of the building with your hands up!"

Pretending to be startled, Washington had to hide a smile as he heard running feet coming towards them. Ramirez froze, then turned abruptly as if making a run for it. Without appearing to move more than a few inches, Washington turned his body, sliding one foot forward. It was just enough. As Tito tried to reach his bottom drawer where he kept a sawed off shotgun, Washington bodyslammed him, dropping him to the ground like a sack of rice. It was all over in a few moments, the warehouse filling with detectives until the large space was crowded. Washington borrowed a pair of handcuffs from one of his colleagues to lock around the snarling Ramirez' wrists.

"Call my lawyer!" Tito insisted, since he'd been caught red-handed. "His name is Terranova!"

"You have the right to remain silent..." Anderson began, flashing a proud look over at his partner.

"Good work, LaVern." Hutch grinned, slapping his friend on the back.

"Don't ever call me that again, Blondie."

++++++++

Humming _'La Bamba'_ , Bicho Valdez was exhilarated. He had a full bottle of Jack Daniel's on the car seat beside him, the afterglow of a great afternoon of sex and was ready to par-tay. He'd argued with Ramirez's authoritarian attitudes in the afternoon, tired of being bossed around and told what to do like a six-year-old. Bored with unpacking the crappy masks, he'd left ol'Tito to do the scut work and gone hunting for beavers. A vacant eyed piece of ass with still enough looks on her drug ravaged face to attract him had been just the thing to restore Bicho's generally congenial mood. He'd left the girl crying on the bed in the water stained $10 a night room he'd rented, her mascara running down over the brand new bruise on her cheek. To be generous he'd thrown her a tiny bag of horse to tide her over.

Stress relief, that's what she'd been. He felt so charged after knocking her around; he almost invited her for another session in the warehouse once Ramirez paid him some cash. The deal with Williams was for some major green and it definitely put them back on the path they'd fallen off of when that hijo de puta Starsky stumbled in where he didn't belong.

Slowing to a stop at a red light, Bicho glanced at his watch. It was after ten. He was a little late to meet up with Ramirez and Williams, but this way the business part was more likely to be over and Tito would be in the mood to celebrate their victory. A left turn took him onto 91st, but the scene that confronted him just a block away blanched the color from his brown skin. With a swerve of the steering wheel and a screech of tires, he whipped into a rapid U-turn that took him back the way he'd come.

Red, blue and while flashing lights adorned a covey of police cars, the colorful lights decorating the corner of 91st and Hispanola like a circus sideshow. It was hard to see what was going on in the quick glimpse Bicho managed before he spun away, but none of it looked good. The cops must be raiding the warehouse. They'd probably already found all the clay figures, the bundles of heroin, the proof that Ramirez had sold his merchandise through Montoya. Damn

No doubt Ramirez was already booked on possession and trafficking, which meant years in jail. Fuck.

His heart pounding, Bicho hoped the cops were too busy arresting people and carting out evidence to notice one illegal U-turn. His luck held, no sirens came squealing after him and once he'd hit the freeway, he gave in to anger. It was only by the grace of Dios y Madre that he hadn't been at the warehouse to be arrested himself.

What had gone wrong? Did it have anything to do with the new buyer Williams?

It had to be that cop again. That Starsky was behind this, nothing else made sense.

He didn't even have to make a conscious decision to head towards the bastardo cop's neighborhood. It was almost as if the car knew exactly where he wanted to go.

With a feral grin on his ugly face, he planned what he was going to do to Starsky, before he killed him.

++++++++++++++++

"Make sure you dot every 'I' and cross every 't'," Dobey warned. "We want these charges to stick like glue. Starsky's career depends on it."

"You don't have to tell me, Captain," Hutch assured, sitting down at his desk in the detective's squadroom. Washington was the man of the hour, so far, and was across the room quickly typing up a preliminary statement of his end of Ramirez' arrest. "When I get through interrogating him, we'll have all the proof we need to convince IA that Starsky was framed."

"Not this time, Hutchinson." Dobey shook his big head. "I want Anderson to do the questioning. You know Simmonetti would have a field day if he could prove you planted words in the perp's mouth..."

"That would never happen!"

"Nevertheless, Anderson's in. That's final."

Hutch felt like Starsky often did when told to back down or else, but the person he'd most like to punch in the face wasn't there at the moment, so he had to capitulate.

"You mind if I watch?" he asked sarcastically.

"Just don't go in the room."

"Observation all the way, " Hutch promised. "I'd better call Starsky to tell him we got Ramirez, he hates being out of the loop."

"Yeah, they're all still over in booking right now, you'll be here the rest of the night." Dobey agreed. "This bust got me out of going to Edith's sister's house for supper."

"Sorry you missed a family dinner."

"I'm not, when God handed out the cooking skills in that family, Edith cashed in and Mavis musta been hiding behind the door." The bulky man stomped off to find a candy bar or two to contain his late night cravings.

Picking up the telephone, Hutch dialed his best friend's number, pleased at the way the night had gone so far.

+++++++++++++++

Humphry Bogart had an unexpected sophomoric affect. Starsky knew 'Key Largo' by heart and despite the tense plot, his eyes had drifted shut. After setting up the brand new VCR, connecting the correct cables and practicing using the rewind and fast forward on 'African Queen' he was more worn out than expected. It was unintentionally funny to watch Bogart and Hepburn hop around on their ramshackle boat like fleas using the fast forward button but after switching to the other movie, the familiar dialogue put Starsky almost immediately to sleep.

He never heard the front door lock snick open or the careful tread of the man sneaking across the room. Amazingly, it was a televised clap of thunder from the hurricane tossed Key Largo that roused him, jerking him from a heavy doze with heart stopping suddenness. On the screen, Lauren Bacall stifled a gasp just as Starsky caught a glimpse of the figure standing near his couch. Lauren's surprise wasn't anything near Starsky's who recognized the man's ugly face instantly.

"All alone again, cop?" Bicho asked conversationally, his mood at once jovial. "I couldn't come around when your big, blond friend's here, but remember the last time you were alone...?"

"You had help the last time." Starsky gripped the sides of the couch cushion, mentally cursing his vulnerable position. Reclined on the couch, he had no weapon except for the VCR remote control. Not exactly as deadly as his Baretta which hung out of sight and out of reach in the closet. "You think you can take me by yourself, Valdez?"

"Huh, not hard, bastardo," Bicho stalked quietly froward, his hands loose and relaxed by his sides. He looked confident that he could easily take his opponent and Starsky wasn't all the sure he was wrong. After all the bending and stretching to get the VCR set up, his ribs ached horribly and he'd already taken his evening painkillers. Not exactly in tip-top shape to be starting hand to hand combat.

"I plan t'have a little fun before I finish you off, cabron." Bicho grinned maliciously, slamming his fist into the opposite palm with a flat slapping sound that only made Starsky more determined than ever to stay out of his way. "Break some bones, maybe bounce you off the wall. Guess your head must be harder than I thought--once against a brick wall usually works like a charm."

The wall-mounted phone in the kitchen rang shrilly, startling both men. Starsky stared at his stalker, pointing behind him to the telephone. "I should answer that, Hutch said he'd call af...." He paused; not sure how much Valdez knew of the sting on Ramirez, "About this time."

"Not sure what time it is, huh, _dormilon_?" Bicho jeered, the phone's incessant shrill ring annoying the hell out of him. Circling the couch with malice, he scowled at the irritating phone, crossing the room to put an end to the noise.

Shifting his legs so one knee rested on the carpet next to the couch, Starsky coiled his strength to spring backwards. If he could circle around Valdez, get between him and the door, he could retrieve his gun and get outside without injury

Valdez grabbed the telephone and pulled the receiver right off by the cord. The sudden silence was leaden. "He can't come to the phone right now." Valdez laughed, tossing the broken handset to the floor.

"I didn't answer, he'll come right over." Starsky warned, fervently hoping that was true. He had inched his way along the edge of the sofa. One more foot and he should be clear of the furniture and he'd be able to dash across the room.

"You don't look like you're happy t'see me." Bicho said with a growl deep in his throat. His hand shot out so quickly Starsky didn't have time to move out of the way. Bicho grabbed a handful of the other man's hair, forcing his head back against the top of the couch, putting Starsky in a very awkward, painful position. "You stuck your nose where it didn't belong, rati."

"Seems t'me you shouldn't a'been sellin' drugs." Starsky clenched his teeth, trying to speak in as normal a voice as possible under the circumstances. The pressure on his neck and broken ribs was excruciating, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Last I heard that was illegal."

"But it pays." Valdez grinned, visibly excited by the pain he could see on the detective's face. "We had a good thing going until you showed up."

Starsky's left hand grasped frantically at the couch cushions, searching desperately for anything to use against the Mexican's brute force. He could literally feel his ribs popping out of alignment as Bicho put more pressure on the back of his head. Clamping his fingers around something hard, Starsky felt a momentary surge of joy, sliding his thumb up the front of the object. The TV volume, previously at normal conversational level, suddenly blared at the loudest decibel, startling Bicho just enough that he loosened his grip on Starsky's hair. With one burst of adrenaline, Starsky slammed the remote control upwards, catching Valdez under the chin.

" _Chinga de madre_!" he swore, stumbling backwards.

Struggling to breathe, Starsky scrambled off the couch, running towards the closet for his Baretta.

"Get back here." Bicho was enraged, his face twisted into fearful contortions. With snake-like swiftness, he crossed the floor, grabbing Starsky's right arm and twisted it up behind him.

Agonizing jolts of electrifying pain shot up Starsky's torso to his shoulder. He tried struggling but the pain was too intense, he was close to blacking out. In a single second, his respiratory effort tripled, as if the air in his trachea just stopped flowing to his lungs. It hurt so badly Starsky went limp, unable to keep up the strength to fight. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't BREATHE.

+++++++++++++++++++

Hutch hadn't even allowed himself to think when the telephone's ring cut off in mid jangle. He'd run from the building, scrambling into his LTD and starting the motor faster than anytime previously except possibly the time Dobey told him by phone to get to the hospital after Starsky's shooting. This time, he was equally afraid.

Nobody had seen Valdez all day. None of the surveillance teams out looking had spotted him at anytime during the raid on the warehouse. Since he was supposed to be arriving at ten p.m. he must have been alerted by the police presence and run before he'd gotten near enough to Hispanola to be seen. It was frighteningly possible that he'd gone straight to Starsky's house. After all, he knew where Starsky lived, for God's sake. Why hadn't anyone thought of that? Why hadn't Hutch sent Starsky over to Venice Place?

Breaking every street's speed limit, Hutch drove like a mad man, taking every short cut he knew from Parker Center to Starsky's home. Steering with one hand, he used the police band to get the closest black and white in that neighborhood to respond immediately. By good fortune there was a patrolcar only two blocks away. Despite the shorter distance that Adam-17 had to travel, they only beat Hutch by a few minutes.

Officer Douglas Quintain charged up the front steps, pulling his service revolver. Even from outside the house he could hear sounds of a struggle going on and yelled, "This is the police, open up the door!" The landing was dark at this time of night, the porch light out. Glass crunched under his feet, probably from a broken light bulb.

His partner, Olivia Hancock, finished giving their location to dispatch and joined Quintain on the steps. After he'd repeated the warning a second time, they prepared to break down the door, if necessary.

The pale green LTD roared down the street, coming to a brake screeching halt worthy of any Starsky had ever pulled off. Hutch burst out of the car, running up the steps without turning ever off the engine.

"I could hear something just before I announced Police, but since then, nothing," Quintain reported to his superior.

"I have keys." Hutch said, out of breath. "Go around the back, there's an alley with rickety stairs to his kitchen. Valdez may try to slip out that way." He waited until the two blue uniforms had taken up position, even though all his instincts told him to burst in that second, but he didn't want Valdez to escape.

"Police, Bicho Valdez, I'm coming in!" Hutch yelled after barely a minute, inserting the key in the lock with surprising precision considering it was so dark on the landing he couldn't see the lock. Upon opening the door, he nearly tripped over Starsky's sprawled body, but heard the sounds of Valdez's escape attempt out the kitchen door and the crack of gunfire. He couldn't pay attention to more than one thing at a time, and Starsky's labored breathing and cyanotic color won out as more important.

"Starsk?" Hutch whispered, dry mouthed. "Hang on, I'm calling an ambulance." He could see his friend was still alive, Starsky was gasping for air like a fish out of water. Unfortunately, it was just as easy to see that the kitchen phone was unusable. It took great effort to leave Starsky's side to run into the bedroom and use the bedside phone. He only stayed on the line the minimum time needed to convey address and urgency, then raced back to anxiously hold his partner's hand. There didn't seem like anything he could do to ease Starsky's suffering. The fading bruises stood out starkly on Starsky's sickly pale face, but there were no other obvious wounds, nothing was bleeding. He was breathing, although his whole body was involved in the effort, neck and shoulder muscles straining to pull in life saving air. Even that was insufficient for the task and his skin was pale, clammy and frighteningly blue. "They're coming, Starsk, it'll be all right soon, I promise."

It was such an inane thing to say, but it got through to the ailing man. Starsky's indigo eyes opened, staring straight into Hutch's. He tried speaking, to reassure Hutch in return, but the effort was too much. He needed every molecule of oxygen just to stay alive; talking would have to wait until later. The pain over his right side was intensifying with every heaving breath he took, the act of breathing exacerbating the wounds inside his chest. With a gasp of pain Starsky coughed, frothy bright red blood leaking out of his mouth.

"Oh, God," Hutch used his handkerchief to wipe away the scarlet smear, his terror mounting. Now Starsky's breathing had taken on a gurgling sound as if he was under water. Hutch knew that sound all too well. He'd heard it in his dreams for months after Gunther's bullets had downed Starsky in the parking lot. Starsky was drowning in his own blood, his lungs filling up with the life giving fluid that was supposed to remain contained in the veins and arteries. What had happened and where was the damned ambulance?

The eerie sound of a siren answered his prayers moments later, just as Olivia Hancock appeared from the kitchen. "We apprehended the suspect, sir," she reported.

"Good." Hutch couldn't tear his gaze away from his partner's; Starsky coughed again, his grip on Hutch's hand tightening. "C'mon, buddy, this isn't going to get you down. You beat this once before, you can do it again." Hutch urged, wanting to cry when he felt Starsky's fingers go limp in his grasp, Starsky's breathing stopping for one heart shattering moment before starting up again with a grunt. "Find out where that ambulance is!" Hutch shouted at the patrol officer. She ran out the front door as the paramedics stormed up the stairs, nearly colliding with her in the dark.

"This way, this way!" Olivia beckoned, then stepped back to give them space to work.

His anger seething at Valdez, Hutch was certain that if he'd been the one to capture Starsky's assailant, he would have bashed the man's skull in. The urge was so strong inside him he had to cross his arms over his chest in an attempt to contain his rage. Right now Hutch needed to stay with Starsky. Valdez was lower than dirt and didn't deserve even a stray thought directed his way when Starsky seemed to be slipping away right before Hutch's horrified eyes.

"He had broken ribs...what happened?" Hutch asked, watching anxiously at the two paramedics connected Starsky to oxygen, started IV's and assessed his vital signs.

They worked with amazing speed, but even with the oxygen mask in place Starsky's color and respiratory effort wasn't improving.

While the medical team was working on Starsky, Dobey arrived, his own breathing labored after the climb up the stairs. "Washington was concerned when you ran out like a bat out of hell. What happened to Starsky?"

"I dunno, Captain." Hutch didn't really have the wherewithal to question why his superior had come all the way out here. It took too much work to think about anything when he had to concentrate so hard on mentally keeping Starsky breathing. He feared that even looking away from Starsky's pale face and heaving chest would cause him to cease breathing all together. "He couldn't breath--I don't..." He faltered, his throat tight with bound up emotions.

"I suspect it's a punctured lung." The blond paramedic unhooked her stethoscope from her ears; " No breath sounds on the right. We need to get to the hospital pronto. He's in grave danger for cardiac tamponade."

The older, balding paramedic relayed the information to the closest hospital via a mobile phone unit and received the okay to bring the patient in code three--at full speed with sirens blaring. Refusing to be separated from his partner, Hutch wrangled his way into the ambulance and squeezed himself into a tiny corner while the woman with the long blond braid worked steadily to keep the oxygen saturation in Starsky's blood from dipping down to a critically low level.

Dobey stayed behind to supervise the arrest and transport of Bicho Valdez. The little thug snarled in the back of Quintain's patrol car, his cuffed hands hooked like talons as if he wanted to dig his fingernails into the closest cop and rip skin.

+++++++++++

He'd been here before. Every single moment seemed like a replay of every other time Starsky'd been rushed to hospital. Hutch wanted to just stop time so he could rewrite recent events, change the order of sequences so he could arrive earlier to Starsky's house. In fact, if he was going to indulge in the what ifs, he would go back in time to last Saturday and prevent Starsky from walking to his car alone. Maybe he could even stop Starsky from buying Igor, the catalyst for everything that had gone wrong this whole week.

But idle speculation had always been Starsky's purview; Hutch had always been the logical one. The one who kept his head. But he couldn't even think anymore. The entire time in the ambulance he'd been certain Starsky was about to breathe his last. Each breath had been forced out with terrible anguish, exhausting the injured man further. When the admitting doctors had pushed Hutch out of the way to begin work on his partner, he felt like his soul had been ripped in half.

He wouldn't dwell in what ifs. Like the biggie: what if Starsky died. But two years ago Starsky had proven that death had met its match with him. He would not go easily. Hutch prayed that this time would be the same.

When the emergency surgeons burst from the trauma cubicle, pushing a gurney bearing the unconscious Starsky, Hutch leapt back, stifling a cry. He caught a brief glimpse of his partner's pale face, still bearing a streak of blood on his lower lip, before the medical team whisked him up to the O.R.

Jilly McKenna had been in an adjacent cubicle, comforting a six year old who'd taken a dive off his skate board and needed seven stitches in his lip. As she came out to collect the suturing supplies, she saw Hutch reach out to the gurney barreling past, his face tight with grief.

"Sergeant Hutchinson?" Jilly laid a gentle hand on his arm, but he reacted as if her touch burned. "What's happened?"

"Valdez got to Starsky," He said, as if that explained it all. Unfortunately, it explained a lot to Jilly. He massaged the sides of his mouth with two fingers as if there were a mustache there. "But I don't...nobody's said much to me. I just want to know what's going on. Why he needs surgery."

"The surgeon should speak to you briefly before anything happens." Jilly soothed, recognizing the people who had gotten on the elevator with the gurney. "I'll see what I can find out and get someone to explain things, okay?"

"What about you?" Hutch looked directly at her for the first time, once the elevator had closed and his partner was completely out of sight. He needed something else to occupy his mind, even for a minute. He was close to hysterical without any information on Starsky's condition and knew that bombarding Jilly with questions wouldn't help any. She hadn't worked on his case. "Are you...should you be working?"

"I came back to the job when I hurt physically, now it's only the memories...." She shrugged self-consciously.

"I'm sorry I had to insist on the rape exam."

"Don't. It's okay, really. Nothing more to be said about it. Here you're trying to comfort me and Starsky's on his way to surgery." She patted his arm briskly, "See, there's Doctor Alvarado coming now. She'll know what's going on."

Hutch turned his head expectantly to see a middle aged Hispanic woman with a no nonsense expression walking with purposeful strides. "Thanks, Jilly."

"Take care, I hope Starsky is all right." She left to find the suture supplies.

"What's going on? Why can't Starsky breathe?" Hutch could barely get the questions out fast enough, almost tripping over his words in his rush to know the truth. "What did that bastard do to him?"

"Sergeant Hutchinson, please calm down just a little." The doctor said, her words slightly accented, "Your partner's ribs were broken a week ago, yes?" Hutch nodded, "Well, one of the broken fragments pierced his right lung, tearing a hole. I'm sure you know how devastating this can be on the body. His lung filled with blood, making it difficult for him to take in air. We were also concerned that the amount of fluid in the chest cavity could press on the heart, putting a strain on the heart muscle because it would have to work much harder to pump. Luckily, that scenario hasn't occurred and we were able to stabilize his condition somewhat once he arrived here by inserting a chest tube to drain the blood."

"But you have to go in surgically to sew up the lung?" Hutch asked, the strong sense of deja vu returning with a vengeance. The recital of Starsky's injuries was not nearly so horrible as just after Gunther's assassination attempt, but they sounded just as life threatening. He ached to help, do something. Out on the street at least he made a difference, but here in the hospital he was so impotent. "He's had lung surgery b-before. Two years ago. His records are at Memorial." He added automatically.

"So you've had a little experience with this, then?" She asked sympathetically. "He's in x-ray right now and then we'll be taking him right into surgery. The sooner we close up that wound the better. He'll be on strong painkillers and antibiotics for the pneumonia--the result of having all that blood in his lung, but he should pull through."

"Thank you." Hutch nodded numbly, the adrenaline starting to wear off, leaving him shaky.

"You can wait on the third floor. Do you know where the family room is?" Dr. Alvarado smiled, "I have go scrub up now, time to go to work."

"I'll find my way," Hutch assured, "Take care of him."

"That's my job." She nodded professionally.

++++++++++++

"My lawyer'll have me outta here before the night is over, man." Bicho Valdez sneered at the skinny detective leading him towards the holding cell. He'd already been booked, fingerprinted and photographed. This was such a common occurrence in his life he'd barely paid attention. They had very little to hold him on. He'd barely touched the cop. What ever had caused Starsky to go down so hard like that, turning blue before the astonished Bicho's eyes, it wasn't something he'd done. The most they could charge him with was aggravated assault. Next to nothing. If they did add the beating on Starsky from a week earlier, that was just more of the same. He had been blessed by Santa Maria herself and her blessed son, his namesake, Jesucristo. Turning up late to the warehouse had saved him from a host of charges, starting with possession, selling an illegal substance, there was probably other stuff the damn lawyers could think up...the cops must be throwing the book at Ramirez. Valdez chuckled to himself. Nothing ever stuck to him and nothing ever would.

"So this be the little shit," a booming voice filled the narrow hall between the cells.

"Come back to welcome him, Brick?" Stu Myers grinned maliciously at Valdez before opening a barred door and ushering his prisoner inside. He unlocked the handcuffs, freeing Bicho's arms under the watchful eye of a silent blue uniformed officer and stepped back to close the cell door. "He's all yours. Take your time."

"Be mah pleasure." Washington leaned casually against the bars, staring hard at Valdez.

Bicho always thought of himself as a hard man, a strong one. He'd never minded being short because he was powerful and mean. Nobody messed with Bicho Valdez. But this behemoth of a cop was like Godzilla and Shaft wrapped together. He exuded danger. Bicho felt the tiny beginnings of fear curling in his belly, very glad to be behind bars.

"You think you're something special, little man?" Washington's voice was low like the purring growl of a big cat ready to strike. "You like beatin' up on people, huh? Get your rocks off on it, doncha?"

"You can't pin what happened t'that cop on me. I barely touched the guy. He dropped like a stone...something was wrong with him." Bicho said, flashing all his tough guy bravado, but the tendril of fear was liquefying his belly. If that huge cop started pounding on him here in the police holding cell he was up shit creek. Nobody'd come to his rescue here.

"You're what was wrong with him, you beat him black an' blue up last week."

"Wasn't me."

"Starsky--that's the cop's name y'know--picked your picture out of a mug book."

"Lotta guys look like me."

"Well, then, we also got a sworn statement from a little gal you raped."

"That Jilly's a liar."

"Did Ah say her name?" Washington leaned in real close, his ugly face pressed between two bars.

Bicho held his position with a tight smile, lifting of his chin. So far the cop hadn't come at him, maybe the guy was all bluff and no fists. And even if he did throw a punch, Bicho could always sue for police brutality. There were laws to protect the assaulted party after all.

"I never raped nobody. All those bitches all asked for it."

"So you admit there was more than one. We can probably find a few more of your female acquaintances to press charges against you."

"Never hold up." Valdez said confidently.

"Never know 'til we ask 'em, but it makes no never mind, we got you on so many counts you'll be old and gray before the parole board evah sees your name on their list."

"All you can charge me with today is a B and E, I never touched that cop."

"Well, seems we got a difference of opinion, but Ah bet Ah can change your mind real quick like." Washington held up the key to the cell with an evil grin. "Like to wager on who'd win a bare knuckle fight?"

"What you want, cop?"

"Information. Ain't that what all cops want, chico?" Washington let the key swing around his finger, "You tell me what Ah want t'hear and maybe some o' those counts 'gainst you might disappear. Course, it ain't up t'me. And Starsky's a good friend o'mine, so it better be damned good info for me to start listenin'."

Considering his options, Bicho Valdez hesitated. If Ramirez knew he traded info for a lesser sentence he was screwed, because even with a couple of the charges knocked off, the cops could still manufacture enough to put him behind bars. What did he owe Ramirez, really? "What about immunity?"

"In your dreams, Valdez. You bettah start talkin' soon cause if Ah don't have nothing t'tell mah captain, he's gonna throw the whole book at you. Tryin' t'frame a cop just ain't smart, and we got your fingerprints insida' Starsky's house."

"What kinda deal we talkin'?" Bicho asked cautiously, the fear in his belly like a wild animal eating out his intestines. Ramirez could call Flores and come after him in a flash, but maybe with some maneuvering he could get some protection from a source he'd never considered on his side before. The police.

+++++++++++++

"Starsky. Wake up."

Starsky considered the request for some minutes. Hutch must have a damned good reason for waking him on a morning he didn't have to go into work. At least he didn't think he had to go to work--he was on suspension or medical leave or something like that, wasn't he?

"I know you hear me," Hutch said. "C'mon sleepy head, wake up."

"No," Starsky answered, but just the simple act of speaking hurt his chest. Hell, now that he was paying attention, just about everything hurt. "Got no reason to. No job."

"Suspension's been lifted."

Starsky opened his eyes to mere slits to see Hutch's grin, but the light in the room made his head ache intensifying all the other hurts. If it weren't for Hutch's incredible announcement, he would have tried to drop back into the dark hole he'd been hiding in. "When?"

"Yesterday--Saturday."

"It's Sunday?" Starsky whispered incredulously. _He'd missed a whole day?_ "How did that happen?"

"Sun came up and went down just like any other day," Hutch smiled again, looking enormously happy but for the life of him Starsky couldn't quite figure out why.

"You just slept through it."

"The suspension, dummy." Starsky grunted. God, his chest hurt. Maybe if he just sat up a little. Trying to pull up with abdominal muscles slammed the full force of the pain to the forefront. "Damn." Starsky shut his eyes again against the onslaught, riding out the worst of it, barely noticing the hand that eased him back down on the bed.

"You're not supposed to sit up, you've got a chest tube." Hutch said gently, rubbing his shoulder. "How're you doing?"

"Hangin' in there. Any water there?" His throat felt like sandpaper on a rough day and the hard plastic of a nasal cannula irritated his nose.

"Don't think you're supposed to drink yet, but I'll get some ice chips."

"Fine." Starsky existed for a few moments, letting his body drift. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but he needed more. He wanted to be up and helping with the investigation. If it was Sunday, Washington's undercover must be over. Had they busted Ramirez?

"Open your mouth." Hutch spooned a cool, wet ice chip into Starsky's mouth. It tasted like the finest bottled water those fancy restaurants in Beverly Hills served. Letting it trickle down his parched throat, Starsky savored the sensation and opened his mouth for a second.

"Now give me the abridged version of why I'm here and why Simmonetti let me off." Starsky licked his lips, unable to hold back a groan from the pain the long sentence caused.

"You need some pain meds first?"

"That'd be good." Starsky agreed without opening his eyes, because it was getting harder and harder to keep a decent hold on consciousness and he really did want to hear the whole story. Random bits of memory were coming back to him but they didn't explain enough to satisfy him. He listened to a bubbling noise like the pump on an aquarium for some moments before identifying it as the aforementioned chest tube. Damn, the thing in his side hurt like a son of a bitch.

The sound of the door opening alerted him that Hutch had returned with reinforcements and Starsky struggled to look reasonably alert. A middle aged black nurse with the requisite white uniform leaned down to get a good look at her patient, smiling in greeting.

"G'morning, Mr. Starsky." She did all the usual nurse routines--taking his vital signs and checking out his chest dressing before injecting a dose of morphine into his IV line. "We was wonderin' when you'd come back and join the party. Mr. Hutch here's been

'round the whole time, but yesterday there was a passel o'your friends here."

"Sorry I missed 'em." Starsky relaxed his tense muscles as the drug spread a warming pain release through his blood system. Now he just had to stay awake long enough to get the whole story.

"Just give me a call if y'all need anything. My name's Beulah." She patted his hand before departing.

"She sounds just like Brick." Starsky observed, letting his eyes slip shut for just an instant. The morphine was marvelous after the rigid pain in his chest. And it had eased the work of breathing so much he no longer felt like stopping every few beats just to rest.

"Yeah, the two of them got along famously last night."

"So what exactly did I miss?"

"D'you remember what happened at your house?"

Peering up at Hutch Starsky realized he looked terrible, his eyes bloodshot, face pale and fair hair mussed. "You been here since Friday night?" He fingerwalked his left hand across the sheet to cover Hutch's hand resting there.

"Pretty much." Hutch gave the Starsky's limp fingers a squeeze.

"Sorry about that." Starsky let the memories sort them selves out in his drugged brain.

"Had to watch over my buddy." Hutch smiled fondly.

"Valdez came t'see me." Starsky said carefully, "But he hardly laid a hand on me. All of a sudden I just couldn't breathe."

"He didn't hit you again?"

"He jerked my arm back and I thought something broke inside."

"It did, one of your broken ribs punctured a lung."

"Musta shocked the hell outta him when I went down." Starsky chuckled, then had to stay very still until the pain from the unexpected movement died down.

"Well, I'm amazed, the guy was actually telling the truth." Hutch shook his head, relating what Valdez had told them, and then went on to his version of the drug bust and Washington's subsequent interrogation of Ramirez. "Brick played those two against each other like a maestro conducting a duet. Got both to rat the other out, confessions that they'd broken into your house and planted the drugs--everything. I wish I'd been there to watch, but Dobey said it was a joy to behold."

"Hallelujah," Starsky said to be in the spirit of things. "And Simmonetti let me off just like that?"

"He grumbled a lot, and insisted the assault charge stay on your record, but Dobey got him to clear up everything else."

"Hallelujah again. So when do I get out of here?"

"Do I look like a doctor? You really must be out of it."

"You look like you haven't slept in two days. Go find a real doctor and get out of here." Starsky dismissed him with a fond smile; "At least one of us can walk out of here unaided."

"You don't want me around?"

"Just pick me up once they pull this honking tube outta my side and remember to bring my pants."

"Trust, Starsky," Hutch held up one long forefinger, "A true friend would trust me without constantly reminding me to bring his pants. Just cause I forgot one time...years ago."

"My pants, a shirt and my watch," Starsky continued as if Hutch hadn't spoken, "And I trust you with my life, but Hutch, you just don't know how t'dress." The last of the sentence slurred a little as he fought off the sedative properties of the morphine.

"It's all in the style, buddy," Hutch pushed a tangle of curls off Starsky's slightly sweaty forehead, "Rest easy, you won this time."

"I won the first time I paired up with you." Starsky muttered, taking a soft breath as he slid into sleep.

+++++++++++++++++++

With the combined confessions of Valdez and Ramirez, the District Attorney was able to go ahead with indicting them on a wide range of charges. Even though Valdez did get some immunity for testifying against his cohort, that didn't ameliorate the host of other charges and outstanding warrants against him. He had to be dragged out of the court by the bailiff, all the while shouting obscenities at Hutch and vowing to come after both detectives if it was the last thing he did. Ramirez stood silently during his indictment, not revealing any emotion on his long narrow face, but his lawyer did attempt to sue Washington for entrapment. The police department's lawyer, Michenku, just laughed in his face.

Federal Departments as diverse as the FBI, Customs, the DEA and the California State Drug Task Force had all come out of the woodwork to descend on the case, giving Hutch a grim satisfaction that he'd had a hand, however small, in bringing this drug smuggling ring to a close. A number of the dealers on the customer lists had been rounded up and the word on the street was that pushers and small time dealers were going way underground for a while until the limelight was focused somewhere else. Washington was getting the praise he'd long deserved from the police department brass, but despite the fact that Starsky had in fact uncovered the case originally, there wasn't much hope of Starsky receiving any sort of commendation. Not with Simmonetti still stewing over Starsky's 'unprovoked' attack. Still, it felt good to have the last two weeks behind them.

Exiting the courtroom, Hutch was just glad Starsky didn't have to witness Valdez' threats. Starsky was fragile enough right now, recovering from lung surgery. Being cursed to his grave might just give the superstitious Starsky nightmares. Hutch already had enough of them himself these days. Even now that Starsky was fully recovered from the pneumonia that plagued him for a week after the surgery and was finally home, the sound of his still ragged breathing was enough to send Hutch into a panic. It had been too close this time. Starsky nearly drowned from the blood in his lungs in his own living room.

But everything was on the way to getting back to normal, what ever that was and for that Hutch was grateful. He picked up a bucket of fried chicken from the Colonel for Starsky and arrived back at the little white house in time to see Washington emerge from his red vintage mustang.

"You skipped out early on the hearing," Hutch said by way of greeting, clapping his friend on the back.

"Knew those boys'd go t'trial, didn't have t'stay aftah Ah gave mah statement." Washington grinned, "Got somethin' t'cheer up Little Davey."

"Good, 'cause he's beyond stir crazy by now." Hutch held out the bucket of chicken. "There's enough here to feed an army. Stay and entertain the invalid."

"Planned on it, 'specially if you got some beer t'go with that fry." Washington reached into his car, hefting a good-sized box.

"You brought him a present?" Hutch lead the way up the staircase, "Between dinner, guests and something to unwrap, he should be a lot easier to live with than in the past couple of days."

"Been makin' your life a livin' hell." The black man laughed deep in his chest.

"Let's say last night we nearly came to blows. It wasn't pretty." Hutch joked, remembering Starsky's petulant refusal to eat what Hutch had cooked--vegetarian lasagna. After working over the stove for several hours to layer the eggplant, tomato and noodles just right Hutch had been justifiably proud of his creation. Starsky had stuck out his lip and held out for something with meat. Hutch's patience, strained from caring for a bored, unhappy Starsky after he'd been released from the hospital, finally broke and they'd shouted at each other. When Starsky dumped his plate into his partner's lap, Hutch's first impulse had been to draw back a hand and cold cock him. Maybe because of the combination of concealing cheese and warm tomato sauce running down the front of Hutch's pants or just the general idiocy of the situation, Starsky started to laugh. Unable to complete the blow, Hutch sagged in his chair, covered in noodles, and joined in the laughter. Sometimes that was the only thing left to do.

"Lucy, we're home!" Hutch called out opening the front door. Starsky's one holdover from the last few weeks was a tendency to frighten easily when anyone came through the front door without announcing themselves.

"Hey, Huggy just got here," Starsky responded from the couch. "He brought over a video to watch. An' Brick! You made it!"

"What'd movie didja pick?" Washington came over to peer at the video box.

"'Young Frankenstein.' " Huggy answered, "Seen it? That goggle-eyed guy is a hoot."

"Got you something, too, Little Davey." Washington handed over the box he'd been toting, looking very pleased with himself.

"Give it here!"

Hutch stopped his dinner preparations to watch the unveiling, unabashedly sharing Starsky's childish joy. His partner constantly surprised Hutch. Starsky had lived hard, seen the worst things life could throw at him and still managed a sweet, loving temperament that only occasionally lost it's youthful exuberance. He ripped the paper off the box, pulling back the flaps of the lid and took out a handful of excelsior.

"Oh, my God, Brick." Starsky raised his head from the box, his indigo eyes shining at Washington, who just beamed back, urging him to finish opening the gift.

"Don' leave us in suspense, Starsky." Huggy reached out to grab the box and look inside.

"Hey, this is mine." Starsky held on tightly to his prize.

"C'mon, Starsk." Hutch plucked the straw like packing out of his hand. "I know you didn't get this excited over hay,"

"Ain't hay." Starsky lifted out a black and gold figure with a scowling face. Gold leaf bedecked his headdress, and base, matching the huge gold hoop earrings that pierced his ears. "It's Igor."

"Oh, my God." Hutch echoed his friend's words, "Am I going to have that thing staring at me in the dark?"

"Starsky!" Huggy was so repelled he leapt off the couch, "That thing's hideous. Looks like something my Auntie uses to put the hex on people."

"Where'd you get it, Brick?" Starsky asked, running a finger over the statue's prominent nose.

"Well, tell you right now, it probably ain't the original Igor and he ain't unique." Washington picked up the figure, leering at the thing with such a similar expression the others laughed. "Once the lab crew finished checkin' all the pieces in the whole warehouse and fished out the ones that had contraband, Ah just appropriated one of the clean ones. There was a lot of him an' his cousins--a' course Ah got Cap'tan Dobey's okay."

"That was really nice of you." Hutch said softly to the big man, turning away so Starsky wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. He blinked them away, searching for plates and napkins in the kitchen. He'd never see Igor as anything but an evil omen of events that would nearly lead to Starsky's death, but if it pleased Starsky, he'd live with the ugly thing. "Chicken's ready."

"Glad to see you brought real food this time!" Starsky goaded, but tucked into a drumstick with gusto, Igor still planted in his lap.

Once the chicken was down to mere bones and the six-pack decimated, Huggy slipped the video in. All four settled back for Mel Brooks' classic spoof on the Frankenstein legend, chuckling at Gene Wilder's eccentric Freddy 'Fronk-en-steen' and commenting on the black and white movie's dead on take off of the original.

"That guy cracks me up, seen him in 'The last remake of Beau Jeste'." Washington gestured at the screen when wild-eyed Marty Feldman made his first entrance.

Starsky bugged out his eyes in a poor imitation of the master, clowning for Hutch and then broke into a grin at the dialogue. Freddy had just met his soon-to-be-lab assistant and was confused over the pronunciation of the man's name.

 _"You must be Igor,"_ Wilder's character, Frankenstein, proclaimed.

 _"No,"_ Feldman answered with heavy cockney overtones. _"It's pronounced Aye-gor."_

 _"But they told me it was Ee-gor,"_ Wilder protested.

 _"Well, they were wrong then, weren't they?"_ Igor leered, his eyes wandering in opposite directions.

Hutch chuckled at the movie, sitting back so he could see both the TV and his friends. It was moments like this that stayed in the memory, captured like a mental photograph to be taken out and reminisced over years later. He wanted to picture Starsky's laughing face forever, whenever memories of Gunther, Prudholm or more recently, Valdez intruded. This was a night to cherish.

"See, somebody knows how to pronounce a great name. This is my favorite movie from now on," Starsky crowed happily, holding up Igor like a trophy over his head. His healing ribs protested this movement and he had to lower the statue into his lap with a wince.

"Until next week when you discover another movie you missed the first time around." Hutch teased, pointing to the growing pile of VCR tapes Starsky had acquired in a very short period of time.

"He's just keepin' up with the times, my man." Huggy said, "I gotta get me one of these for The Pits--gonna institute movie night. Really start drawin' in the crowds."

"I'll bet there'll be a bunch of gen-u-ine Mexican art on the auction block next time the department sells off all the old stolen and recovered property..." Starsky cajoled, "You could redecorate the place, get a whole different look going on. Think of Igor and his cousins on a shelf over the bar."

"He's right, there's close to fifty or more left." Washington tipped back his beer, then looked disappointed when there was nothing left in the bottle.

"Starsky, I said I wanted to bring in the crowds, not scare 'em away!" Huggy laughed and then pointed to the screen where the townspeople were banishing torches and storming the Frankenstein castle.

"After all, you're the one who wanted something unique," Hutch pointed out. "Better to smash all the other nasty things and be done with it."

"No one ever appreciates great art." Starsky put his hands protectively around the clay figure.

FIN


End file.
